Persephone Riddle
by electra2pandora
Summary: One Halloween night, Rose Potter is abducted by Voldemort and raised as Persephone Lestrange. With a prophecy that recognises her as the future Dark Lady, Persephone is slowly seduced by the Dark Lord as he moves to take over the wizarding world. Meanwhile, the Order moves to stop him any way possible as they and the Potter's continue the search for Rose, their saviour. F!Harry/TMR
1. 1 The Abduction of Persephone

_**I. The Abduction of Persephone**_

In Godric's Hollow, a small wizarding town on the 31st of October, 1981 a figure suddenly seemingly popped into existence. He, for he was presumably male, was tall and his appearance completely covered by a long black cloak with its hood drawn. The figure observed the spot they were in for a moment, taking in the trees that swayed gently in the breeze and the empty houses littering the street, their owners out celebrating the date.

The figure suddenly snapped out of his stillness and began walking down the lane with confident, elegant strides, his dark power cracking the air around him.

He was here for one reason and one reason alone. This reason was contained within the house at the end of the lane, which he now stood in front of.

He opened the waist height cast iron gate with a flick of his wand and strode down the path, the white pebbles crunching together beneath his feet. With another flick of his wand, the door to the house swung open and he entered.

He stood in a lounge room, a fire dancing merrily in the hearth and large, cushy lounges huddled around it. The figure finally lowered his hood as a smirk worked its way onto his mouth.

He was handsome, greatly so, the kind of handsome that had girls swooning as he passed. He had dark hair that curled around his head in an almost boyish manner, aristocratic features and high cheekbones. His eyes were a glacial ice blue that could freeze a man in fear. There was something sinister about him, dangerous and undeniably dark. Lord Slytherin was not someone you wished to mess with.

Drawing a breath to centre himself, he let his magic unfurl, feeling for any other presences within the building and came across two.

One was pitiful and slippery, his aura a muted orange that he knew well and immediately over looked.

The second however was much more interesting though it belonged to someone who had yet to celebrate their second birthday. It was white, the purity of someone who had yet to decide whether they were light or dark, blended into violet with the barest hint of silver undertones, the only evidence of what she was destined to become.

He immediately began the climb up the stairs that led to the being, walking calmly down the hallway studiously ignoring the startled yelp of Pettigrew as he passed and into the room contained at the end of the hall.

It was a nursery, lovingly decorated and painted a soft lemon yellow. Two paintings hung on the wall depicting a forest with a stag, wolf, dog and rat loping about without a care and the second was a lily growing next to a still lake. A rocking chair was in the corner, a blanket draped over its arm and a wardrobe covered the entire left wall. The right wall contained shelves that were laden with lovingly picked toys. Straight in front of him was a window looking down onto the lane that he had just traversed and under the window was a carefully carved wooden crib. He walked towards it, laying his hands on the smooth wood, peering down at that which lied within.

Tom Marvolo Riddle gazed at the red headed infant who looked calmly back at him. Did she know she wouldn't see her parents for years? Never again, if he had his way. She reached out her tiny arms towards him expectantly and he scooped her up and held her protectively against him. She was a beautiful child, her soft ringletts the colour of blood, her almond shaped hazel eyes held a warm quality that would make a lesser being immediately do whatever she asked for, and very nearly him, too. This girl was special. He would never allow her to side with the light.

He turned suddenly, making his black robes swirl dramatically as he headed out the door. Peter, who had been snivelling uselessly in the hallway jumped out of his way with a squeak. He nodded to him pointedly as he passed, and heard him scurrying into the nursery to place the pre-prepared corpse that now looked exactly like the child in his arms strategically in the cot. Peter had made sure that the Potter's were out at an emergency order meeting which he had confounded Marlene McKinnon into calling. He didn't want to risk anything going wrong. The child's mother, after all was quite proficient in blood magic, something he refused to fall for twice.

He walked down the stairs of the cottage thinking on how it came to this. The prophecy, told to him by the aging seer Allisandra of the one who was his equal, who would rule by his side if all came to pass and help him achieve his dream. He was more than happy to wait the fourteen years for it to happen. But Dumbledore had been a problem. She had been born to a light family after all, well inside his domain. Dumbledore could have stopped it from happening.

Sybil Trelawney had the idea. She was a pre-cog, which meant she had feelings about what would occur and had occasional visions a few minutes before an event happened. Seer blood was only awoken if born under the right conditions and though Sybil had the _potential, _she wasn't a seer herself like her grandmother Cassandra. She was very knowledgeable on anything in divination, however, and kept a close eye on everything in the world of seers for him. Allisandra had come to her at the visions urging, and Sybil had brought her to him. Sybil was a very loyal deatheater, and her pre-cog made her the best agent he had.

Sybil's idea was simple, and a few days later she had shown up at an interview for the new Hogwart's divination professor, dressed up as a batty old lady with big glasses and smelling like sherry while sprouting nonsense that she had 'seen'.

Tom got the feeling that she was enjoying herself.

It went off better than either of them could have hoped. Just when Dumbledore had enough, Sybil 'fell into a vision' and recited the fake prophecy that she, Allisandra and Tom had devised together. Dumbledore had fallen for it hook, line and sinker; but it had gotten better than that. Serveus Snape had heard part of it and ran off to inform him of the 'prophecy' right away, giving him the perfect excuse to hunt the Potter's. Of course, then Snape joined Dumbledore, but that could be used to his advantage.

He exited the property and apparated with a muted _crack_ outside Lestrange Manor where Bellatrix was waiting anxiously.

"My Lord?" she asked bowing quickly before springing back up to look at the child. She held out her arms and he handed her to Bella gently. Bellatrix would be a good mother. She was proud, fierce, powerful, loyal, independent; and there was the fact that she couldn't bear children. The child would be doted upon.

"My Lord, what do we call her?" Bellatrix asked reverently as her eyes drunk in the sight of the girl greedily and Voldemort considered for a moment. His handsome aristocratic features showed briefly under his hood as he tilted his head back in thought. What had the rat said her name had been? Something common… Rose Lia. That wouldn't do. She needed something as unique as she would be. Something both light and dark…

He regarded her for a little while. _The being that holds your other half, who dwells in both light and dark._

"Persephone Rosalia Lyra Lestrange," he decided finally. Lyra, following the Black tradition of naming their children after a star (Bella was originally a Black, after all), Rosalia to keep her original name in a way, and Persephone, the goddess of spring and light, wife to the Lord of the dead.

It seemed appropriate.

He turned and raised his wand, preparing to apparate back to his own manor.

He would not lay eyes on Persephone until she was fifteen.

Lily and James Potter apparated to the road outside their cottage before they both froze. The door was blown off the hinges, smoke was billowing from an upstairs window and the dark mark hung tauntingly in the sky. Smoke was billowing from the smashed _nursery _window. Lily let out a strangled cry and sprinted into the house with James on her heels, pelting up the stairs and down the hallway.

It took them ten minutes to put out the fire as they called for help. Peter, who should have been there, never came to find them.

However, most importantly, they couldn't find their daughter.

**Hey all! A couple of IMPORTANT things you may not have picked up on. **

**Persephone is going to appear perfect for a while but she is not. She will make mistakes, but she is also a lot further ahead of other people because of not only her position in society but she is Voldemort's equal which makes her automatically know how to manipulate people and she gained control over her magic more quickly, but this won't be explained fully until later in the story.**

**Sybil Trelawney is an agent and trusted advisor but not in the inner circle. **

**Allisandra is not a deatheater, but her visions are telling her that she need to stay around Persephone and she is going to be around Tom, so she is loyal to him. **

**Persephone is the opposite of Harry; she looks like her mum with her dad's eyes.**

**Peter didn't put the corpse in the nursery because despite everything Lily and James are his friends and he wanted to give them hope, so he set fire to the nursery so he had an excuse for his Lord as to why the body wasn't found. **

**Sirius doesn't go to Azkaban because Lily and James around to tell Dumbledore that he wasn't the secret keeper. **

**Tom, who might eventually be referred to as Marvolo, WILL be with Persephone. **

**Persephone is going to be dark, but she will still care for people. **

**Lily, James, Sirius and Remus will met Persephone eventually. **

**Alrighty then. No flamers, because this is just for fun when I have nothing to do in the afternoon. **

**There is a fourteen year skip coming up, btw. **

**Electra2Pandora**

**Updated 24/09/13**


	2. 2 Fourteen Years Later

_**II. Fourteen Years Later**_

Persephone smoothed down her Slytherin green dress expertly, brushing imaginary lint off the silk. She considered that she came from a predominately Slytherin family a blessing really, because Merlin knows that only a few colours don't clash horribly with red hair. Green, black and grey are some of the few that don't.

It's fate, really.

She took a tiny sip of her Champaign and wait for the next little heir to try and trick her into allying with their house, preferably through marriage. _Please_. The snooty little purebloods couldn't connive their way out of a paper bag. Standards really had been falling rapidly. Persephone blamed it on all the inbreeding, most of the time; it's the Flint's own fault they married into a troll family. What were they thinking? The Malfoy's at least had the decency to marry into veela heritage when their bloodlines got to close and gave everyone all a nice bit of eye candy. They were quite a pleasant family, really.

Until they opened their mouths, that is.

Though Aunt Narcissa was lovely all the time, but she was a Black, technically.

She pursed her red lips and tapped her fingers gently against the glass with her free hand, making the bubbly liquid vibrate before sighing dramatically.

All the good purebloods were really gone. Greengrass's, who showed promise, were neutral so they didn't attend the purely dark family balls, but both Daphne and Astoria were good company and allies.

Her mind briefly flickered to a memory of a man who had given her a piece of advice at a party much like this. Rule one of pureblood culture: never refer to anyone as a friend unless you want something from them. Breaking that rule got you hurt.

Her eyes sweep the ballroom before landing on a handsome boy of Italian descent, Blaise Zabini. A very good match for anyone willing to try, but he might take after his mother and mysteriously 'lose' his wives. Really not worth it. A little to his right were Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber, also known as Crabbe and Goyle. She didn't know their first names. Merlin, she didn't think _they _knew their first names. They communicated in grunts and only excelled at looking rather large with a permanently stunned expression on their faces. Her eyes grazed the room again.

Millicent Bulstrode was actually a worthwhile acquaintance, but she had a tendency to be crass and really needed to be introduced to a set of tweezers. Pansy Parkinson had her cornered and was probably prattling on about how magnificent she was and how she would be the next Lady Malfoy. Persephone felt a stab of sympathy for Millicent, once Pansy got going it was nearly impossible to escape. She would help her, but general Slytherin 'live to see another day, even if it means throwing someone else at the chopping block' policy dictated that she let her grit and bare it.

Not that Persephone was in Slytherin, or even attended Hogwarts. Her mother was adamant that she would never attend a school under the thumb of the leader of the light, which was probably a smart idea. Just because her mother and father were never thrown into Azkaban didn't mean that they weren't suspected of being deatheaters. If she was caught by anyone doing anything slightly illegal, she would be whisked away for the greater good faster than you can say lemon drops. Dumbledore really had an unhealthy addiction to those things.

A man cleared their throat behind her, and she turned gracefully around to appraise them before breaking into a smile.  
"Uncle Rabastan! About time you paid attention to your favourite niece."

"My only niece," he answered amusedly before offering his hand with a slight bow. "A dance, my Lady?" he asked. Persephone set her glass down on one of the passing waiters' trays before placing her hand delicately in his.

"Of course, my Uncle," she replied, tilting her head up as if insulted he had to ask. He chuckled under his breath while guiding her to the dance floor. Persephone placed her free hand on his shoulder while he placed his on her waist and they began to move gracefully across the floor in time to the waltz.

"Having a good time?" he asked her in a low voice. Persephone snorted before smiling beatifically.

"I enjoy marvelling at the fine specimens of our humble and just society, Uncle," she replied while Rabastan smothered a grin.

"I'm sure you do," he said drily, "and that you behaved like an upstanding member of it." Her smile widened.

"I may have picked up several tads of blackmail," she admitted, "and enquired to a couple ongoing business deals that can be turned to my advantage, naturally."

"Naturally," he echoed with a roll of his eyes and guided her through a complicated series of twirls as the music rose to a crescendo. She moved with the constant grace of a panther that was ready to pounce. Her hair, a living flame, was pinned in its natural delicate curls to her head withed diamond encrusted clips. Her almond shaped hazel eyes sparkled with their ever present amusement, as if she was one step ahead of everyone else (and he often suspected she was), and were framed by long, dark eyelashes. Her creamy complexion was highlighted by the slight blush that came to her cheeks. Her magic was so strong that it was almost a tangible presence around her, making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Persephone was a league beyond the other heirs and heiresses, and they knew it.

The music slowed to a stop and Rabastan released her hand to bow to her while Persephone dropped into a curtsey.

…**..**

Lord Voldemort was not Lord Voldemort tonight, but Lord Slytherin. He refused to use the Gaunt, and it was his name after all: Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin.

Besides, it sounded impressive.

He studied the room with practised eyes, but everyone was acting predictably, as usual. Except _her. _

Persephone.

She never acted predictably. She would bait the people around her and then ignore them for the next hour, compliment them and insult them in the same breath. She would remain silent when they wished for her to speak and then cut across the conversation with another Lord as if it was addressed to her. It didn't matter that she was fifteen, that she was unmarried or that she hadn't yet joined the deatheaters. She had them eating out of the palm of her hand, and they loved her for it.

So he watched her as she too watched the room critically, watched as she swept gracefully across the floor with her uncle, watched as the men's eyes lingered upon her with desire.

Without even realising it, his feet began to move, pulling him towards the being that was destined to be _his._

She would struggle against the pull; she would delay it as long as possible to show her independence, because that's what he would do. Because she would belong to him.

She already did, even if she didn't know it yet.

…**.**

She breathed in the cold night air as she looked out over the balcony into the manicured gardens below. Her eyes wandered up to the sky, naming as many constellations she could see. She smiled reminiscently. It had been a game she had played as a child, and the image she used to enforce her occlumency shields. Her father had taught her the stars.

"_You see that one, Persephone? That one is Lyra. You were named after it."_

Her gaze dropped back to the gardens as her hand absently came up to trace the silver lightning bolt scar on her left wrist. She had gained that in a garden, too. She let out a shaky breath.

Persephone felt him before she saw him, the feeling pulling her out of her memories. She could almost taste the magic in the air. His aura was _dark, _so deliciously dark. It reminded her of a snake, which baited its prey before going in for the kill. Her head rolled back appreciatively before turning to look at _him. _

'_Oh._'

He was beautiful, there was no other descriptive. His cheek bones were sharp and angular, ice blue eyes mocking and cruel. Dark hair was swept away elegantly on top of his head, somehow matching his pale complexion nicely.

He appeared to be around thirty, his very presence demanding subservience from lesser beings. But she was no lesser being. Her eyes narrowed and her stomach fluttered in anticipation. _This _was a worthy opponent.

He dropped into a graceful bow and Persephone automatically dipped into a curtsy before rising.

"Milady," he said silkily, even his voice was dark and seductive.

"Milord," she replied in kind.

He cocked his head to the side, considering her. "What is a young heiress like you doing out here in the open air?" he asked politely, with a mocking edge to his words.

Persephone smiled brightly at him. "One must get back to nature, milord. Remind themselves that even roses have thorns," she replied as a smirk began to creep its way onto his face.

"Indeed. But the best rose disguises its thorns until it wishes to draw blood."

A look of faux confusion worked its way onto Persephone's face. "You talk almost as if the flower was a person, milord! No person known to me would have need of such sly ways to live their life. Why, I'd dare say all the members of the houses were open books!"

"Only to those who know how to read them," he answered, his eyes flashing red with amusement. Persephone observed the change with interest. They were beautiful too. Crimson, like blood.

"And can you read them, milord?" she said innocently. It was a double sided question. If he said no, he was a liar, which was not acceptable in their society. Their role was to twist the truth, play on it to suit their needs, but never lie. It was a fine line walked by all purebloods. If he said yes, then he wasn't adept at reading people as he would have claimed, and he knew it.

"Milady, I write them." Persephone suppressed a smile. A perfect sidestep from a worthy opponent.

"Do you, milord? Then, pray tell, what you have written for me?"

"Oh, a good many things, I can assure you."

Persephone's eyebrows rose slightly. _Interesting. _"Indeed," she whispered before raising her voice slightly. "And will you reveal anything to help enlighten me as to what they are, milord?"

"Are you asking for a taster, milady?" he asked amusedly.

"I do believe I did just ask, unless you have need of a hearing aide before your time, milord," Persephone said cheekily. His eyes flashed red again.

"Very well," he said simply. He stepped forward, arms going around her possessively. One hand came up to cup her face and his long, pale fingers caressed her cheek gently. His lips came down to crash over hers, kissing her until she wasn't even sure what her own name was. His aura surrounded her, dark, malicious, cruel and _safe_. It pulled at her, danced over her skin, crackled beneath it, briefly joining with her own.

He stepped back abruptly, and Persephone blinked, her red lips swollen from the kiss, the colour in her cheeks higher than usual. The man bowed.

"Milady," he said before turning on his heel and strolling easily inside.

"Milord," she replied to his retreating back, recognising the event for what it was: a declaration of war. He wanted to play.

Persephone's hazel eyes narrowed.

_Game on. _

…_**.**_

**Hi everyone! Just want to thank all those who favourited, followed and reviewed. You are all angels!**

**You might have realised that Persephone is talking really formally at the moment. She's doing this to make fun of society so she'll tend to do this from time to time but she will talk normally too. **

**Crabbe and Goyle's first names are Vincent and Gregory, by the way.**

**This was a fast update because I'm still really bored at the moment. Oh well. **

**If anyone has an absolute favourite fanfiction, please leave the name of it in a review or something, I've read so many lately I'm running out. **

**Electra2Pandora**

**Update 24/09/13**


	3. 3 Come to Order

_**3. Come to Order**_

Sirius Black ran a hand through the shaggy hair that was as black as his name absently as he observed the room. Remus sat almost unnoticed in the corner, his luminous amber eyes the only that gave him away.

McGonagall sat with a straight back and her hands placed primly on the ornately carved oak table, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Snape sat next to her, a sneer firmly in place as he sent disdainful stares at the room at large.

A seat down from him was Lily, who was the only one exempted from the stares. Her red hair tumbled down from her head in natural perfection and her deep, emerald eyes had a deep sadness contained within them.

Holding her delicate hand was James Potter. His skin was tanned fold over muscles built up from years of being an auror, constantly black just-got-out-of-bed hair remained eternally messy, the same glasses sat upon the bridge of his nose. But his eyes, too, conveyed that something was missing in his life. His hazel eyes had lost the mischievous sparkle that had always been there, it had disappeared with his daughter.

On the other side of the table, Kingsley played with a butter knife distractedly, his bald head shining slightly in the dim light of the dining room. He was clad in midnight blue robes, which complimented his dark skin. He was broad and intimidating, with honed muscles and an earring in his left ear.

Next to him were four red heads. Arthur Weasley was first, a middle aged balding man with kind blue eyes, hidden slightly behind cheap rectangular frames.

On his right was his wife, Molly. Her red hair was lighter than Lily's, whose hair was closer to auburn. She exuded a motherly attitude, was short and dumpy and possessed chestnut eyes.

Then was William "Bill" Weasley, the eldest of her six sons. He had his own red hair pulled back into a ponytail and a fang hung from his ear which his mother occasionally glanced disapprovingly at. He leant back easily in his chair, the picture of confidence.

Charles "Charlie" Weasley observed him with amusement as he crossed his toned arms, covered in small scars and burn marks from his years of handling dragons. He had his father's eyes and his mother's hair which she had taken scissors to the moment she could pin him down.

Down at one of the heads of the table was a man in a large trench coat, blonde hair and a nose that looked like it had been half chewed off. His most noticeable features, however, were the wooden leg the he had propped up onto the table as if to showcase it craftsmanship (_"made it myself in the middle of the Amazon chasing a slippery bastard," _he had grunted proudly years ago_. "He thought that if he blew my leg off I would stop chasing him, the idiot") _and the glass eye that spun wildly in its socket which he had been named after. He was a warrior in every sense of the word.

At the other end of the table was the man who was clearly the leader. He had twinkling blue eyes that seemed to look right through you, a long silvery beard and navy robes decorated with purple swimming fish as he finally finished eating his lemon drop casually.

This was Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light and despite his description, not someone to be trifled with. The air around him cracked with withheld energy from his magical core. This was the defeater of a dark lord, and he was determined to help bring down the second one.

They were the core members of the Order; the heavy hitters who told everyone else what to do because Merlin knew that the Ministry was not up to anything more than tripping over its own high polished shoes and working on long winded speeches that talked about all the good they did than actually going and doing it.

"Lily," Dumbledore said in his kindly voice as Lily's sad eyes rose to meet with his. "What have your contacts told you about the Hall of Prophecy?"

"Not much, it is hard to uncover too much information about it. The unspeakables are rather secretive."

"Imagine that," Sirius mumbled under his breath and Lily flashed him a death glare quickly before looking back to Dumbledore.

"It's the safety measures we have to worry about. If anyone but a person that the prophecy is about tries to remove it from the shelves then they will go insane. It's purely down to their strength of mind if they ever regain their sanity." Everyone went silent. Dumbledore sighed, leaning forward and interlocking his fingers.

"I see."

"Well how do we get the bloody thing then?" demanded Mad-Eye. "We need a plan to get in, we need a distraction to get in, we need to figure out how to actually find it and _if_ we do all that then we can't actually take the Merlin damned thing!"

"There are always loopholes in wizarding law," Remus said drily. "I dare say we will only need time to find them."

James nodded. "Moony is right. They were built in on purpose. How do you think the purebloods always skip in circles around the law?"

"I suppose _you _would know, Potter," Snape scowled at him. James rolled his eyes.

"School isn't the real world, Snape. Besides, its politics." Snape opened his mouth angrily but McGonagall over rode him quickly.

"What _I _want to know, Albus, is what exactly you are expecting to hear from this fabled prophecy we have heard so much about!" Everyone leaned forward, turning to Dumbledore expectantly. The silver haired wizard's eyes twinkled.

"The future," he said simply. Minerva's eyes narrowed dangerously and he quickly continued.

"Fifteen years ago, two prophecies were made concerning Lord Voldemort." Nobody flinched at the name, a rarity in the wizarding community. Molly did pale quite rapidly, however. Lily's shoulders slumped forward at the mention of _that _prophecy before becoming alert again.

"Did you say _two?_" she questioned and Dumbledore nodded.

"Both of the prophecies pertained to the same two people."

"But aren't they void then?" asked Kingsley, sending an apologetic look towards the Potter's.

"She's not dead," snapped James and Lily nodded vigorously, nestling under the arm he placed around her. Snape looked sick.

"That remains to be seen," said Dumbledore gently, "though the prophecy we haven't heard may give us a hint to her location." Lily's eyes flared with hope and determination, which stamped out the broken hopelessness that used to exist there.

"Are you saying that there is another prophecy that details a way to defeat Voldemort?" asked Bill.

"It may," replied Dumbledore.

"Well what are we waiting for?" snapped Lily. "We need to find floor plans for the DoM and the Ministry and search for loop holes to actually get the prophecy," she babbled while the Marauders exchanged a look before smiling.

After fourteen years of glimpses of who she used to be, Lily was back.

Bellatrix Lestrange sat up primly in her straight backed chair. Only the seven members of the inner circle were here for this meeting: Rudolphus, Rabastan, Dolohov, Greyback, Malfoy and Mulciber. Their Lord sat at the head of the meeting, as aristocratic as usual.

If Bellatrix had been loyal fifteen years ago, it had increased tenfold after being gifted with her daughter whom, according to the Lestrange's (and all the houses) there could be no child more perfect.

"My contacts have told me that the Order is asking about the Department of Mysteries, they are after the prophecy, my Lord," Malfoy said graciously.

Stuck up prick of a brother-in-law he may be, but you had to admit there were five things that Lucius Malfoy was a genius at: politics, money, style; being a ponce and spying.

He was quite a useful ally. He also had very good tips on how to keep your hair in the exact style you want to keep it in.

Their Lord placed his arms on the desk. "We'll just have to spin that to our advantage, but to do it they will need to follow our plan."

Dolohov nodded in agreement. "I could slip information to the right people in order for it to travel back to them. I would need to do it over a few months with some less relevant information so it isn't suspicious, though."

"Do we want them to get the prophecy, though?" voiced Mulciber. "Or do we want to draw them out and over extend them so we can give them a few losses when they least expect it?"

"I vote the second one," said Rabastan. "Don't forget in the months that they are planning their 'surprise' theft they will be using all their resources on that, and won't have much time to do much else."

"The advantage would be ours," murmured Rudolphus.

"As long as there is a fight at the end, I'm in," Greyback proclaimed with a grin, showcasing his pointed teeth, yellow eyes glowing in the dark. "But if they're going to be traipsing through the Department of Mysteries, I say we leave a few surprises for them."

"Traps, you mean," pointed out Mulciber.

"As long as it's within the general… them of the Department, then I see nothing against it," their Lord said.

"Like the one with time sand," suggested Rudolphus helpfully.

"And flying brains," Rabastan said gleefully as everyone turned to stare at him incredulously. "What?" he said defensively.

"Yes, like that," Voldemort, the first one to regain his composure, said. "Though I do suggest that Rabastan seek psychiatric help."

"I did, but then he had to see a psychiatrist, too."

**Hi everyone, there's chapter three done. **

**Thanks to everyone who favourited, followed and reviewed and a shout out to ****Riku Yamamoto**** who suggested a new fanfic for me to read. **

**I finished it already so if anyone else has a favourite please leave it in a review or message me!**

**No Persephone this chapter, but she will be in the next one. **

**Anything Snape/Lily will be purely one sided on Snape's part and won't have a major part in the story. **

**You might have noticed there is a bit of Malfoy bashing. I actually like the Malfoy's but most people in the books don't have a high opinion of them, so that will be affected. **

**Everyone, add me on Pottermore! Ghostdawn258**

**Thank you all so much for reading :)**

**Electra2Pandora**


	4. 4 The Wand Master

_**4. Six**_

Persephone pushed open the door to Ollivander's as her red lips twisted up into a beatific smile for her mentor.

"Master Ollivander," she said respectfully, acknowledging his status. He smiled at her in response.

"Ah, Persephone of the rose, my dear riddle," he greeted. Persephone snorted.

"I'm hardly a riddle, I've known you since I was seven," she pointed out.

Ollivander's silver eyes took on a mysterious glow. "You were destined to be a riddle, little rose," he said simply. Persephone narrowed her hazel eyes as she tried to puzzle out the meaning behind his words. Ollivander's smile widened, laugh lines crinkling his ancient face.

"You are not ready for the answer, little rose, so you will not be able to find it." Persephone pursed her lips. She prided herself with thinking outside the box and not limiting herself to assumed rules; it was how she came to be Ollivander's student.

_It had been a competition as it was required for all 'Masters' to have an apprentice, and Ollivander was about a century overdue. He had devised a test to find an apprentice with a skill he could value, as was tradition. He had chosen 'problem solving', prepared to be disappointed and written __**IX **__on a piece of parchment. Without using a wand and using only one line without taking the quill off the parchment, the contestants had to turn the __**IX **__into six. After a fortnight, no one had managed it. The numerous people had tried failingly to use wandless magic, which ruined the whole theory of 'use one line' as Ollivander looked on disapprovingly. Others tried to manipulate it into the Roman numeral for six, but only succeeded in the numeral for eight, IIX. _

_It was then a little girl with red hair and hazel eyes had taken one look at the rules then the parchment and had immediately picked up the quill and drew a single line without taking the point off the surface. Ollivander's eyebrows had risen far up on his forehead as he plucked the parchment away from her and swept his eyes over it before studying her intensely, an unspoken question in his eerie silver eyes. _

"_It worked," shrugged the girl. "My name is Persephone Lestrange, by the way. I have to go now, but I'll come to see you tomorrow for the details, "she said, running off to where her parents must be._

"_No it isn't," Ollivander whispered to the retreating girl, an answer she would never hear. He put down the parchment and proceeded to take down all the signage that advertised the contest. He had found his apprentice. _

_Sitting innocently on the counter for any that wished to look was her entry. Drawn in an ornate, practised hand in front of the __**IX **__was a single 'S': __**SIX. **_

_After all, who had said the line had to be straight?_

Ollivander came back to himself and stared at his apprentice amusedly. He knew her so well he could almost hear the words she was thinking as she scolded herself internally. He had tutored her for years in potions, runes, spell crafting, magical theory, alchemy, wand lore and crafting. All the things her mother, father and uncle couldn't teach her. He let her stew for a moment before speaking.

"That is enough now, Persephone. Your fate is obviously not for you yet to know." Persephone's eyes narrowed dangerously. She _hated _being out of control of her own life.

"Oh really?" she mumbled. "We'll see about that." Ollivander sighed. The girl was always so damned stubborn!

"Shall we actually move on to your lesson?" enquired Ollivander, "or shall we mumble about currently unimportant things?"

"Unimportant!" Persephone exclaimed but followed him into the backroom where the majority of her lessons took place.

"Now, how far along are you?" asked Ollivander, moving a stack of books out of the way to leave the floor in between the stone fireplace and the shabby arm chair free, before reclining in the chair.

"I think I have it," she replied. "It was the claws I was having trouble with, but I have them now."

Ollivander nodded. "How long did you hold the form?"

"About thirteen hours." His eyebrows rose and Persephone blushed. "I was in front of the fireplace in my room and fell asleep."

"That must have given your parents quite the shock when they came to wake you up," he said drily and Persephone shrugged.

"They're used to finding strange experiments in my room. Father opened the door, took one look at me, shrugged and left."

Ollivander chuckled. "Go ahead then," he said, waving his hand indicatively.

Persephone's face took on a look of concentration for a second before her body began to morph. Within a second, a large black panther was in her place. Its fur was sleek and smooth, its strides graceful and precise as its muscles coiled beneath its coat as it walked. The feline's ears stood straight up, detecting every sound in the room and its tail moved constantly to give it perfect balance with every step it took. Its hazel eyes roamed the area, as if seeing it for the first time.

Ollivander smiled. "Well done, Persephone." The panther's ears twitched towards the sound. She loped up to him and placed a cat's version of a kiss on the back of his hand, which was on the armrest. He chuckled and scratched behind one of her ears. She purred appreciatively.

"Good kitten," Ollivander teased and Persephone growled at him. He smiled again, retracting his hand. "You can turn back now." Persephone shifted and looked at him expectantly.

"So?"

"You have mastered your animagus form. A gold star to you!"

"Sarcastic, frustrating bastard," said Persephone fondly.

"On that note, are you aware that you reached master status last month?" asked Ollivander nonchalantly and Persephone's mouth dropped open.

"You mean I've been without the trace for a whole _month_ and you didn't tell me!" she screeched.

"I may have," Ollivander admitted. He ducked as a very thick book flew directly through where his head had been moments ago. Righting himself, he smiled pleasantly at her. "Have a lovely day," he said cheerfully before ducking into his crafting room which was warded so that only he could enter. Persephone scowled after him before dropping into his vacated chair.

Ollivander had talked about a fate she had. Destined to be a riddle, he said. Couldn't fight it, he said. Won't figure it out to the time is right.

Great.

It wasn't the first time Ollivander had dropped hints of what was to come. At one point he had even commented that it would be a momentous occasion on the day she met the owner of the brother of her wand. It wasn't exactly useful information; it wasn't like she could ask someone she had just met if they had a phoenix feather in their wand and, if so, which phoenix it came from. Morgana, she didn't even know which phoenix the feather in her own wand had come from.

She bit the inside of her lip carefully. What was he alluding to? What was so important that it was _destined_?

No matter how hard she thought, she could not grab hold of an answer.

**Hi everyone!**

**Once again, thanks for all the F's, F's and R's. And leave the names of good fanfics behind. I am bored out of my mind, people! Texting can only sustain you for so long! (also because of credit). **

**Tell me anything you want to see in this fic, and I'll try to deliver if it fits in with the storyline. **

**Persephone will meet up with Tom again in two chapters. Yay! Maybe at the very end of the next one, we will see. **

**The usual shebang, **

**Electra2Pandora**


	5. 5 Conversations

_**5. Conversations**_

Persephone took tiny sip of her tea and observed her companion over the brew. Lady Violetta Stewart stared back at her evenly. In their society, many power games were played in order to tell who held the station above the other. In the social game, Persephone (or Heiress Lestrange as she was referred to) and Lady Stewart had long proved they were on equal ground, but Persephone's family was both older and wealthier, so she deferred to her.

"I heard you achieved master status recently," Violetta commented. Persephone's lips twitched.

"Yes," she said simply, eyes searching the room quickly for a new topic and thanking Morgana as they landed upon the smiling photograph of a young boy. "Your grandson is starting Hogwarts this year?"

"Yes. I worry about the quality of that schools defence professors though, I hear the Madam Umbridge will have the post this year," Violetta grimaced.

"The one whom constantly wears pink? I thought she was a ministry worker, always pining after the minister and such."

Violetta looked amused. "Yes on both accounts, the minister demanded for her to be mad a part of the staff after the fiasco of the Triwizard Tournament last year."

Persephone smirked into her cup. According to her parents, their Lord had wanted to make a potion for a long time but was unable to because he lacked 'the blood of a champion'. The Triwizard tournament had conveniently provided him with it. Her father had shown her a pensieve memory after of the event. Her Lord had been wearing his glamour of a snake-like man that he wore so that he could transverse the public in his natural appearance without anyone recognising him but his inner circle. Persephone had never seen the Dark Lord up close, and never without his glamour.

The memory had shown his complete genius, however. He had made the Triwizard cup a portkey, so the moment a competitor had touched it and had become the champion, they had been in the Dark Lord's grasp.

It had been a handsome teenager, Cedric Diggory as she had found out later, with wavy blonde hair and prominent cheek bones. He had been tied up to a statue of an angel; in the middle of a graveyard, Persephone had noted amusedly; as Pettigrew cut him in order to gain his blood, walking over to the cauldron a few steps away which the Lord had been observing carefully to let it run off the silver ornate knife and into the potion.

"Lend me a hand, Wormtail," the Lord had said in his disguised voice. Pettigrew had grimaced before holding his left hand over the cauldron and with one savage stroke with the enchanted knife, cut it off.

Persephone had giggled. It had been a joke. A cruel joke, mind you, but it _was _a joke and Persephone always had a dark sense of humour. Some of the deatheaters who were surrounding the scene had laughed as well, albeit uneasily. They would cut off their hand for their Lord as well, but they wouldn't have been happy about it, though none of them felt even a slither of sympathy for Wormtail.

Persephone wasn't sure what, but apparently he had bungled an important assignment that had been dreadfully easy and had been their Lord's personal punching bag ever since. She had asked her father about it once, and his face had darkened immediately.

"_Just had to set fire to the Merlin damned room," _he had muttered viciously. _"They couldn't even find the body." _He had refused to say anything else on the matter.

She assumed that the dark had meant to make a statement by murdering some one important on the light side, but without the body it had still given the light hope that they were miraculously alive somewhere and judging by the way their Lord had held a grudge over it for as long as she could remember, it had been a part of a much larger movement that was all part of his master stroke.

At least, that's what she assumed.

Cedric had been killed, he was no longer needed anymore after all, and his body had been sent back to Hogwarts via the portkey. The wizarding world had been in an uproar. The newspapers and ministry had gleefully declared that the Dark Lord was not back and that it had been the work of a random terrorist despite Dumbledore's claims.

The Dark Lord hadn't been seen in fourteen years, after all. The ministry had proclaimed that he had died while he murdered Rose Potter, a mere toddler, regaling her as the girl-who-lived. Neither of their bodies had been found, but the ministry spokesperson had set that Rose's nursery had been set on fire by a huge burst of accidental magic which had blown both her and the Lord's bodies apart and turned them into ash. Wishful thinking and the ministry's ineptness at its finest.

Perhaps Wormtail had been sent to kill Rose Potter, but why would her death be so important to their Lord?

Persephone looked up to meet Lady Stewart's eyes. "The ministry often stay out of the areas they are needed in and stick their noses in the places they aren't."

"They do have a habit of doing that, don't they?" Violetta smiled. "I believe she is more a spy than a professor."

"Or perhaps they wish for her to overthrow the beloved headmaster," she replied quietly.

"Not so beloved at the moment," Violetta replied. "The_ Daily Prophet _dislikes him at the moment and the public always takes the _Daily Prophet _at its' word." It went unsaid that the _Daily Prophet _was in the ministry's pocket.

"Morgana," said Persephone wonderingly. "They are really cursing themselves in the foot, are they not?"

"Indeed," Lady Stewart returned. "As long as their Lord's and Lady's say that they do not believe that the Dark Lord has returned, the ministry is determined to show that they agree with them."

The ministry was basically ruled by the Houses, who held the political votes, prestige and the money. Shame that the majority of them supported the Dark Lord, for the ministry anyway.

Persephone took another sip of tea and continued the conversation.

Lord Voldemort tapped the dark oak surface of the table in front of him. Seated around it was Greyback, the Lestrange's, Mulciber, Dolohov and Malfoy; his treasured inner circle.

"Rudolphus, it would be easier if you move your family to the manor for the school year," he said, contemplating. "This will be a constant mission, after all, until it reaches its completion." He had another motive for having the family there, too. There was no need to mention that now, however.

"You are all going to have to keep up the act carefully. Dumbledore may not be easily fooled, but he is no Slytherin he didn't grow up with politics like we did." Many of his inner-circle nodded their heads, agreeing, going over their roles in their minds.

"How is Cornelius, Lucius?" he asked.

"Answers to my beck and call, my Lord," replied Lucius. "The ministry will not know about your 'return from the dead' until we wish them too."

"Good," Voldemort replied. "How about the unspeakable's, Antonin?"

"All set up, my Lord. The Order is only receiving the information we want them to have. I will 'attempt to steal the prophecy' about halfway through the year."

Voldemort nodded and glanced out the window.

"It's getting dark, Fenrir. You better go to where ever you wish to wreak havoc this full moon, and I have paper work to do." Everyone took this as the dismissal it was and filed out, Rudolphus promising to be in touch for the details of his move.

_She_ would be within his reach soon.

She was in a loose white dress, walking through a forest. It was dark and damp. Mist hung in the air, and leaves littered the ground. There was a shallow lake, if it could be called that as it would only reach up to her knees. The water trickled down a small waterfall that came from a high cliff face which, she realised upon studying behind the thick foliage, surrounded the entire forest which had a diameter of perhaps fifty meters.

A hiss stopped her from contemplating her surroundings anymore. Her head jerked up to see a snake draped around the branch of a tree next to her. It was black, easily three meters long with a silver diamond pattern that ran down its back. It was the eyes that made her freeze for a second: they were red.

Its head leaned towards her, its red eyes gazing into her hazel ones, delivering her a clear message.

You are being hunted.

Persephone woke up panting, sweat glistening like small crystals on her skin in the moonlight that poured through her window. Her dream was hazy in her memory, but two things pierced through.

The feeling of being hunted, and the colour red that was as bright as spilled blood.

Somewhere, far away, a wolf howled.

**Hi all! **

**Once again thanks for reviewing/favouriting/following reading in general. **

**Persephone and Tom meet again in the next chapter!**

**I didn't update yesterday, but I did post two chapters the day before that, so…**

**The snake is obviously the representation of Tom in Persephone's sub conscious. **

**As for the date, year five is just about to start. I don't want to give exact dates except for September 1****st**** in the story. **

**If you recall, in the fourth book Voldemort did ask Wormtail to 'lend a hand' in the resurrection scene which I realised when I read the book the second time and have found amusing since then. **

**Antonin Dolohov is the unspeakable who was found insane in the DoM babbling about prophecies. Later he regains his sanity and it is revealed that he is a deatheater. **

**My "inner circle" may not be the real inner circle (though some names have remained the same), but the people I have used will have the resources that are useful do the deatheaters. Also realise that there are seven people in the inner circle, we all know Tom is obsessed with the number. **

**xxx – Electra2Pandora**


	6. 6 Noelle

_**6. Noelle**_

Dinner was always a quiet affair in the Lestrange household, all sitting with straight backs and prim manners. As much as they loved each other, as much as they knew they could relax around their family, some things were just too drilled into them to ignore. They shared polite conversation, stated the latest gossip, tads of information that could be used to help the rest of the family and even though their true selves showed underneath, they kept up their masks and relied on the fact that they knew each other well enough to know what all the little mannerisms meant and what was hiding beneath them.

Rudolphus whisked his napkin off his lap and dabbed his around his mouth before setting it on the table. Persephone looked up at him questioningly as he cleared his throat, and Bellatrix too set her napkin down, Persephone following her cue.

"We will not be staying here for the rest of the year," Rudolphus said simply in his deep baritone. Persephone blinked.

"_Pardon?" _she asked.

Rudolphus gave her a look that suggested that _she _was the strange for even hinting it was weird that they would not be living in their house for the _year._

"We will be in our Lord's manor," Bellatrix supplied.

Persephone blinked again. They would be living for a _year _in the Dark Lord's manor.

Were they mental?

"Why?" she demanded as her mother shot her a warning look.

"We have business we need to attend to."

"For a _year?_" Persephone reiterated.

"Did we just not say that, Persephone?" her father said.

"I don't want to go."

"You will be going."

"But I-"

"Will be going," finished off Bellatrix for her with a warning tone. Persephone's shoulders slumped. No matter how many contacts she had, no matter that she currently held master status and was now allowed to use magic outside of tutoring, no matter her high position in society, at home she was still a child. She closed off all expression from her face and looked into her mother's dark brown, heavily lidded eyes.

"Yes mother," she said stiffly. "May I be excused?"

"You may," her father replied. Persephone stood up and walked quietly out the room, not pushing her chair in or closing the door: a subtle hint of rebellion.

She walked up the grand staircase briskly. Why, why were they moving for a year? Why was it necessary? Was it so bad to be cross about this? She turned down the hallway, not bothering to take in the familiar surroundings. Why was she even reacting this much?

'_Noelle,' _whispered her mind, and her steps faltered.

'_Oh.'_

She threw open the door to her pristine room and sat down on her bed heavily.

"Don't think about her," she muttered to herself. "I don't _want _to think about her."

'_Then why are you thinking about her?_' her mind returned.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't affect me."

'_It affected your whole life,_' her mind prodded back gently.

She glanced out the window looking almost guiltily at the wildflowers popping up in the grass, only visible from her room before turning away quickly.

"No it didn't," Persephone said. "It didn't!"

'_Then let me show you,_' the voice said, and she lost herself in memories.

…

Two girls stood in a garden, wild flowers poking up at random intervals, the colours breaking up what would have otherwise been a green monotony. They were maybe four, one dressed in silken robes the other in clothes that were too old, raggedy and too big. The red haired one looked out the corner of her thick eyelashes at the other. She was golden blonde and pale, a button nose, round features. Her eyes were her most noticeable feature, they were an aqua blue; a throwback to fae heritage. Her tiny face was screwed up in concentration, aqua eyes focused on a violet wild flower.

"Noelle," said Persephone curiously. "What are you doing?"

"I'm talking to the flower," she said simply, not taking her eyes from the petals. Persephone blinked.

"Talking to the flower?" she repeated before deciding against asking her about it. "What are you telling it?"

"I'm asking it to tell the others not to die, so you will always have colour outside your window." Persephone was sceptical, but a warm feeling bloomed in her stomach.

"Thank-you," she told her friend, the first true smile to someone outside her family spreading across her face. Noelle glanced up and smiled back.

…

A blonde girl of perhaps six ran to catch up with the well-dressed red haired girl.

"Seph, wait up!" she called out, and Persephone turned around to wait for her. Noelle stopped a meter away from her and panted to help catch her breath.

"You shouldn't have been down there, Noelle," snapped Persephone. "Do you _know _how dangerous a place like Knockturn Alley can be for someone like you?"

"What do you mean 'someone like me'?" demanded Noelle, her aqua eyes narrowing.

"An orphan of fae heritage," she returned mercilessly. "Do you know how valuable you would be in a market, Noelle? What would happen to you? Do you _want _to be kidnapped?"

"Of course not, don't be stupid. I don't know what you're going on about anyway, _you _showed me Knockturn Alley."

"You _followed _me into the Alley, and they know not to harm me, somehow… They seemed to be warned against it. I think mother might have done it."

"Then it's solved, I'll just go when you go," declared Noelle, and Persephone thought it over.

"Okay," she said hesitantly. Noelle smiled.

"Come on," she said, "let's get some ice-cream."

…

Seven years old Persephone studied a book before placing it back on the shelf with a huff. She had been tutoring under Ollivander for two months now, and if she wanted to complete her masters within the next eight years (which was the time Ollivander had hinted at) she had to work hard. She studied the names of the texts closely with pursed lips.

"How long until we have to go home?" Persephone asked over her shoulder.

"Until you go home and I go back to the orphanage you mean?" Noelle said. "About an hour."

Persephone glanced at her worriedly. "You're alright there, aren't you? No one is hurting you or anything, right?"

"I'm fine. I'm out most of the time so it's not like I have time to make enemies or anything, the matrons don't even notice. But it's just not _home, _I have no one I love there, no family. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Yes," Persephone said quietly. "I do." Then she smiled brightly and turned to look at Noelle. "We'll just have to fix that." Noelle gave her a quizzical look.

"What?"

"Maybe I can't give you a home, but I can give you a family. You can be my sister, everyone needs someone for family."

Noelle smiled widely. "Really?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Sure," shrugged Persephone. "We already do everything together anyway."

Noelle surged forward and hugged her. "You're a great friend, Seph."

Persephone smiled and hugged her back. "No, Noelle. I'm a brilliant sister." Noelle giggled.

"Yeah," she nodded vigorously. "You really are."

…

Two eight year old girls sat cross legged under a tree in a garden filled with wildflowers despite the cold weather. Persephone shook her head.

"I can't believe they actually still haven't died in all these years. It's even snowed on them, for Morgana's sake!"

Noelle frowned. "Why do you always say Morgana instead of Merlin?"

"I'm from a dark family, and Morgana was dark," she explained.

"But you're not evil!"

"Dark and evil aren't the same thing. We just grew up differently."

"I suppose," said Noelle. "Since you are dark and you have never done anything cruel. On purpose, anyway."

"Yeah," replied Persephone. "But never mind me, it's _your _birthday. I got you a present!"

"Really?" asked Noelle excitedly. Persephone grinned and handed her a small wrapped box which Noelle all but snatched out of her hand and ripped the paper off with trembling hands. She pulled the velvet lid off the box carefully and revealed a necklace. It was a clear aqua stone about the size of a thumbnail held in place by a single golden snake attached to a chain of fine, delicate looking gold. Noelle's mouth fell open.

"No," said Persephone. "It is _not _too much, I am _not _taking it back and _yes _I am sure. Nothing is too good for my sister."

"I-but!" Persephone gave her a warning look. "Alright. It's a beautiful crystal, Seph. Thank you very much."

"It's a diamond actually," she said smugly and Noelle's jaw dropped once again.

"A diamond? But it's aqua!"

"Oh, it's not a normal diamond. It's a fae stone," Persephone said nonchalantly.

"_A fae stone!_" Fae stones were very powerful and valuable. Those who knew how to use them could use them for scrying, extra power; aid in precognition warding, and in healing and protecting spells; to help speak with magical creatures and legilimency.

"Yes."

"Persephone-"

"No Noelle, it is yours."

The two bickered long until the sun set, but Persephone eventually won.

Despite the fact that she didn't want Persephone to waste her money on her, Noelle didn't want to give back her first birthday present from a family member.

…

A blonde and a redhead pair of nine year olds once again were sitting in a garden. The blonde was talking excitedly to the other, who watched her amusedly with hazel eyes.

"And he's just so wonderful, Persephone! And he's going to adopt me! Me! People hardly _ever _adopt the older kids! I would have never have met him if I hadn't been with you that day, Seph!"

"That's great, Noelle."

"I know. I'm going to meet him tomorrow at the Cackling Hag," Noelle said very quickly in her excitement.

"The Cackling Hag? As in Knockturn Alley?" asked Persephone, suddenly apprehensive.

"I know what you think about me being alone in Knockturn, Seph, but i'll be fine! I'll have Damien with me." Persephone still looked apprehensive.

"I know!" exclaimed Noelle. "You can come and meet him!" Persephone considered.

"Okay," she replied. "I'll be there."

"You can come at noon. You should get to know him too, you are my sister after all. Give him the tick of approval and all that."

Persephone laughed. Noelle sobered.

"How are you going? It must be hard…" Persephone's shoulders slumped.

"I'm swamped, I'm doomed, I'll fail and be disinherited," moaned Persephone.

"That bad?" asked Noelle said sympathetically.

"There's just too much! Between my masters, my modern languages, my dark arts, charms, politics, law, psychology, arthrithmacy, runes, potions, _ancient _languages, history, genetics, espionage, tactics, battle, knives, occlumency and legilimency I barely keep up and they expect me to learn it all at twice the speed other people do at their normal lessons like I'm some kind of Morgana forsaken chosen one or something!"

Noelle thought for a while before leaning over towards Persephone.

"Stay still," she said, holding Persephone's left wrist in both of her and. Persephone look at her in curiosity as Noelle's face contorted into one of concentration. She gasped as a strange feeling began in her wrist: it was burning hot and freezing cold, a foreign tingling that spread throughout her body before retreating back to the place it began. Noelle let go and sat back, swaying slightly. Persephone glanced at her wrist, frowning. There was a single, small silver lightning bolt on the inner side. Her frown deepened. They were both quiet for a moment.

"What was that?" asked Persephone. .

"A fae blessing." Persephone gasped.

"Noelle!" she exclaimed. "Any fae blessing extracts a price! It returns on the owner twisted and tenfold!"

Noelle snorted. "That's just a wives tale. I'll be fine, i'll be adopted and you'll be able to balance everything just fine."

"How powerful did you make it Noelle?" Persephone asked dangerously.

"I poured my heart and soul into it, Seph. Nothing is too good for my sister."

"Noelle!"

"I'll be fine, Seph. I can take care of myself." She glanced down at the timepiece on her wrist and whistled. "I have to go. See you tomorrow, Seph!"

Persephone's feeling of apprehension returned. "Yeah," she said. "See you."

Noelle smiled and ran off.

'_Should I tell anyone?' _Persephone wondered before shaking her head.

No. Everything would be fine.

…

Persephone glanced around the Cackling Hag nervously. It was fifteen minutes past noon and Noelle was nowhere to be seen.

'_You're probably worrying over nothing,_' she thought. But, never the less, she walked over to the hunch backed bartender.

"Excuse me," she called over the noise. "Have you seen a blonde girl? My age and height, maybe with an older man?"

"Sure," grunted the man back. "She went into the back alley maybe an hour ago."

_The back alley? _

"Thank-you," said Persephone walking briskly for the door to the alley, her stomach doing flips. This did not feel right, this didn't feel right at all. She threw open the wooden door and screamed.

On the floor, body mangled, was Noelle. She was drained dry of her valuable fae blood, aqua eyes cut from their sockets, her ring finger missing, her blonde hair shaved from her head. Utterly destroyed for what value fae products could catch on the black market.

It felt like an hour until someone came to help.

But it didn't matter, because she, Persephone, had been an hour too late. A day too late, perhaps, and now her sister was dead.

Nobody ever went after Damien. He was a wizard with connections. There was no funeral either. Nobody really cared about what happened to a fae orphan.

…

A nine year old redhead was at another party, sitting emotionlessly in a corner.

"What's the matter, kid?" a man asked, swaying slightly from drinking too much.

"A friend is gone," Persephone replied tonelessly.

"Friend?" snorted the man. "Rule one of pureblood society, kid. There are no _friends_. You have allies, followers, partners, contacts and acquaintances, but not _friends._ You only call someone a friend when you want something, that way you don't get hurt."

Persephone considered this. She _was _hurting. She didn't want to hurt like this, never again.

"Thank-you," she said quietly.

"No problem," he slurred.

She carefully constructed her walls, threw herself into her work, established her social circles. It all came easy to her now.

At the price of her sister.

She would often finger the necklace around her neck absently, not even noticing she was doing it.

It was a beautiful necklace: a single clear aqua stone surrounded by a snake on a golden chain. Carved along the snake, on the underside so it was pressed against her heart, was a single word.

_Noelle. _

…

She woke from her memories, panting, clutching her necklace before collapsing into tears for the first time in years. She looked outside at the garden, the wildflowers that, unlike her, refused to die. Persephone averted her eyes and stood up to close the curtains.

Maybe the move would do her good.

It would take her away from the place the guilt festered, the guilt she had grown used to.

**Hi all! **

**I'm so sorry, I thought Tom would come in this chapter but Noelle took longer than I thought and she is pretty important. **

**So this is one of the reasons why Persephone is the image of a pureblood princess. **

**Whether Noelle died because it was going to happen anyway or because fate was influenced because of the price of the blessing is up to you. Fate can be influenced, as we saw with Felix Felicis. **

**Anyway, I'd been toying with this idea for a while and I hope it turned out okay!**

**As usual, thanks for reviewing and all that jazz! :D**

**Electra2Pandora**


	7. 7 Slytherin Manor

_**7. Slytherin Manor**_

Persephone often wandered the halls of her new home. Everything about it was elegant and refined. The designer had somehow discovered the perfect blend of minimalism and opulence. The colour scheme seemed to be black, grey and green with few exceptions. Black high polished marble would glisten beneath her feet and the walls around her were a simple light grey with white skirting. The high vaulted ceiling depicted wizards in battle, their spells lighting the hallway.

Her favourite room was a sitting room in the east wing on the ground corner floor. The high windows looked out onto a rose garden on two sides with a water feature to the opposite of where the chairs faced out. This room was lighter than the others, pushing aside the expected green fittings for white, cream and light blue. The side without the door leading out to a hallway wasn't painted grey, but was itself a painting. It depicted a forest, silvery mist hanging in the air and the old, willowy trees bowing slightly in a wind. A cloaked girl, on the edge of becoming an adult stood there. Her feet were bare, her arms pale and delicate in the moonlight. Her cloak was a pearly grey, on the cusp of silver. Her delicate wrist bore a simple woven chain around its circumference, attached to the slender hand that rested on the forehead of a black unicorn. The magnificent creature had its' head down, giving the girl easier access to stroke it. The unicorn regarded the girl with its' violet eyes lovingly, a powerful beast that would defer to only one.

If you wanted to find Persephone, this is where she'd be, curled up with a book she had brought with her from her family's collection.

All of which she had read ten times over.

She closed the book with an irritated snap. What was the use of reading it when she had memorized it all from beginning to end? She glared at the book, as if could miraculously fix her problem.

In a way, it did.

"Whatever did that poor book do to you?" asked a smooth, cultured voice. Persephone's head jerked up to look at the doorway.

There, in black robes, stood the man from the party, _milord _as she had mockingly referred to him. He was a deatheater then, and an important one if he was in their Lord's house. A smirk was playing across his lips.

"I've read it before," she replied, not able to come up with a good excuse.

"Ah," he said as if she had explained everything, which she really hadn't at all. "You don't know where the library is, I take it?"

"That's for the Dark Lord's personal use," Persephone exclaimed, her eyes widening.

"I'm sure he won't mind," he said drily. "Come along," he continued, turning on his foot and breezing back out the door. Persephone scrambled to her feet and hurried after him, to see him striding through the doorway of the room next to the one they were just in.

Persephone followed him through just in time to see him seating himself at their Lord's personal desk.

"Read whatever pleases you," he said, examining one of the pieces of parchment lying on the bench top.

"You can't do that!" cried Persephone, glancing around as if the Dark Lord would come in and _Crucio_ him in any moment.

"You could say I have permission," he replied amusedly.

"You _do _have permission or you've _assumed _you have permission?"

"Let's say both."

The Morgana damned _infuriating_ man.

"You are definitely going to get hit by a Cruciatus for this by the way, just so you know."

"Why, Persephone, I didn't know you cared."

Persephone's eyes narrowed. He had found out her name. She didn't know _his _name! Her pride refused to let her ask just yet, though.

"I _don't_," she said stiffly. "I don't care about you at _all_."

His head shot up and his ice blue eyes momentarily shone blood crimson.

"_Really_," he drawled, standing up smoothly and striding over to where she stood. Persephone backed away and he followed her until she was trapped against a wall. He put one arm up and leaned against it, the other snaking its way around her waist.

_Morgana! _

He nuzzled her neck, punctuating with small kisses. Persephone's breath hitched, her hands going to his hips to pull him closer automatically. He chuckled into her skin, raising his head only to lower his mouth to hers.

She had forgotten, so caught up in all her dramas as she was, what a good kisser he was. He was rough, but not too much. His tongue left no room for retreat, taking everything she could give and so much more. Her body melted into his, moulding herself around him, her hands going up to tangle in his black hair. She moaned against his lips. His magic cracked around her, so dark and sweet like musk. She arched against him as hand began to slowly inch lower.

"My Lord, you said to come as soon as…" the deatheater trailed off as he took in the scene, blinking as if it would disappear.

_He _kissed Persephone one last time before turning around to face the deatheater as if he was caught doing this every day, though judging by the deatheaters reaction this was unheard of. Then what had been said caught up in Persephone's mind.

The deatheater had called _him _'my Lord'.

With a capital 'L'.

Persephone's lips parted in surprise and a tiny, almost inaudible gasp left her mouth. _He _must of heard it though, because he turned back to smirk at her.

_Him_, Lord Slytherin, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, _Voldemort_. The too perfect absolute _bastard_.

Wasn't he meant to be sixty? Getting on in his year, going grey and committing acts on mass murder on the side? How in the name of Venus does he look like he was twenty-seven at the very most?

Then she realised she had been kissed by the Dark Lord. Twice.

Oh Morgana, this was bad. He was going to catch her for sure.

"Indeed I did, Rosier." They all kind of stood there, Rosier staring at them in fascination.

"Rosier," said Riddle, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Yes, my Lord?" Rosier answered immediately.

"Shoo."

"Yes my Lord, right away my Lord," said Rosier as he bowed and scraped his way out of the room.

When he finally shut the door, Riddle turned around to face Persephone.

"I must be off, my darling," he smirked as she glared at him. "But, I beg of you, please read some of the texts in here. Even a Dark Lord finds murdering books a slight bit excessive," he continued as he strode toward the entrance.

"I'll keep that in mind, _Riddle_," she hissed as he opened the door, refusing to refer to him as her Lord. He chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at her.

"I think that you are a much bigger riddle than me, Heiress Lestrange. I look forward to finding the answer." He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Suddenly, a memory popped unbidden into Persephone's mind._ 'You were destined to be a riddle, little rose,'_ Ollivander had said. Her mouth, for the third time that evening, dropped open.

_Oh, Morgana. _

**And Persephone and Tom finally meet up again. A lot more Seph and Tom action to come, and we all meet Allisandra in the next chapter. **

**Also, go and check out my new fanfic ****Unspeakable Agents****. It's still in its' early stages, but I update very quickly so it won't stay that way for long. **

**Thanks once again to everyone who F/F/R, you are all angels!**

**Xxx – Electra2Pandora**


	8. 8 Allisandra

_**8. Allisandra**_

Tom Marvolo Riddle breezed down the hallway to what had been designated as the throne room. It had once been an antechamber, but he had gotten tired of all the standing around and had a chair brought in. All of his deatheaters had assumed it was a throne so, he thought, so be it, and now it was. He even asked one of his deatheaters to kiss his robes once just to see if they would do it. He really regretted that now because he was always nearly tripping over the deatheaters who threw themselves at his feet to kiss the hem of his robe in adoration.

He grimaced to himself and threw open the door to reveal the throne room, empty of all except one. A true smile entered onto his face.

"Allisandra," he said in greeting as the woman turned to meet him. She was ninety-three, but still as independent as if she was thirty. She had luminescent jade green eyes that were focused but at the same time not quite, as if she was seeing two things at once. Her grey curly hair was pulled back in a French twist and she wore simple but elegant sky blue robes.

"Tom," she said in kind, nodding her head to him. Tom never asked her to bow to him, she was a very valued ally and he knew that even though they had never met before, her allegiance lied with Persephone.

"Have you seen something?" he asked as he moved to sit in his chair dubbed throne.

"In a way," Allisandra admitted. "I saw your Lady coming to live here."

"She is," replied Tom, wondering where this was going.

"Then it is almost time," whispered Allisandra. "Soon we will have our Dark Lady."

"When?" demanded Tom, and she shot him a look to remind him that she did not answer to him before answering none the less.

"You will claim her on the Summer Solstice."

"December 21st?" reiterated Tom. Allisandra shrugged.

"I don't make the dates. You probably choose to claim her on that day for some dramatic reason. Though December is going to be a busy month for you now, Yule is just a few days after that. I'd decide what to buy for her now if I was you; get it out of the way early."

"Thanks for the advice," said Tom drily. Allisandra glared at him before grinning.

"She's very annoyed at you at the moment," she said gleefully. "I also saw her turning your snake against you."

Tom scoffed. "She can't do that, she's not a Parselmouth."

Allisandra gave him a look that suggested he was slow. "She is your other half and equal," she said with exaggerated carefulness with each individual sound.

Tom considered this with slightly widening eyes. "And when did you see this happening, exactly?"

Allisandra furrowed her shapely eyebrows in over the top concentration.

"What is the date, again?" she said innocently.

"August 23rd," Tom replied, eye twitching in irritation.

"And what time would you say it was?"

"Quarter past noon," he replied.

Allisandra reached into her pocket and withdrew a silver pocket watch, popping open the lid. She studied the surface carefully as if validating what he said. She tapped the glass just to make sure the ornate hands weren't stuck before checking again, taking her time. Tom ground his teeth together in frustration. He was trying very hard not to lose his temper. He had done it once and had discovered the hard way why it was never a good idea to be at odd ends with a seer. Allisandra suddenly snapped the watch closed before placing it back in her pocket and smiled at him.

"Sorry," she said brightly. "My eyes aren't what they used to be, you know."

Tom, who knew that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her eyes, spoke with a careful calmness he was definitely _not _feeling.

"When will she meet Nagini, Allisandra?"

"Who?"

"Persephone, Allisandra!"

"Oh, her!" Allisandra said with a dawning look on her face. "They started talking about five minutes ago."

Tom froze for a second and blinked twice, before launching to his feet and all but running to the door.

Allisandra watched him go, chuckling under her breath. "I love being a seer," she declared, strolling out of the throne room to find her usual bedroom.

…

Persephone was reading one of the books from _Riddle's _library and she had to admit her had good taste in books.

Granted, he had a whole section dedicated to torture but what were you to expect from a Dark Lord?

It was then she realised that the pillow next to her was moving.

_What in Morgana's name? _

The pillow fell off the chair and Persephone let out a small and very squeal, jumping back.

"_Did you have to yelp so high?" _a voice demanded.

Persephone finally studied what had made the pillow move. It was the head of a long Brazilian Constrictor with pure black eyes.

"_You're beautiful," _Persephone breathed, falling into Parseltongue without realising. The snake preened.

"_Thank you, I think so," _she replied. _"What is your name, human?" _

"_Persephone," _she replied. _"May I have the honour of knowing your name, noble creature?" _

"_I am Nagini," _said the snake, obviously pleased. Persephone's eyes widened.

"_You belong to Riddle?" _she asked. _"You poor creature," _she said sympathetically.

"_Yes, he is rather moody, isn't he? He just can't be reasoned with, sometimes." _

Persephone moved forward and Nagini curled up in her lap, allowing her to stroke her head.

"_Not to mention he is smug and insufferable with a superiority complex!" _

"_He really does, has he not?" _Nagini replied amusedly.

"_You can spend time with me, whenever it gets too much for you,"_ Persephone said kindly.

"_I think I will," _Nagini agreed.

Before they could say anything else, the door burst open revealing Riddle. His hair was slightly mussed up as if he had been running. When he saw Nagini curled up in Persephone's lap, his eye began to twitch minutely. Persephone raised an eyebrow.

"I see you two have… met," he said stiffly.

"_I like the girl, Master," _Nagini told him.

"_That's lovely Nagini," _he said as if it was anything but.

"_This is what I'm talking about," _Nagini said to Persephone confidingly. _"He's awfully moody."_

Tom groaned. _"This is what I was afraid of," _he muttered in Parseltongue.

"What was that?" asked Persephone.

"Nothing," he said quickly.

Persephone giggled. He looked adorable like this. Wide eyes, messy hair, lips parted ever so slightly.

Wait.

No, he definitely wasn't adorable. Dark Lord, bastard and she be old and grey, yes; adorable, definitely not.

Riddle looked at her, his eyes started at the bottom of her feet before inching painstakingly slowly up, lingering on the way before landing on the blush in her cheeks and smirking.

The bastard.

Nagini did the snake version of a harrumph.

"_Mates," _she said fondly, slithering off Persephone's lap, wrapping around Riddle's legs and torso until she came to rest on his shoulders.

"We are not!" exclaimed Persephone and Riddle's smirk returned full blast.

"Oh, we most definitely are. Until a later time, Persephone," he said, turning and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him while Persephone fumed.

_The bastard. _

…

**And all the girls gang up on Tom, but he got the last laugh over Persephone. **

**I love Allisandra. She's like this kickass grandmother who doesn't even need to get up to fight because she knows she's already won. **

**You may have noticed the dates: 1) term starts very soon and 2) Tom and Persephone will be fully together on December 21****st**** which I take to mean as married. I chose this date because of the Summer Solstice and because it is a few months before the Battle of the DoM which I have a scene in my head for which inspired this whole story. **

**Thanks all so much for F/F and R'ing! It really does mean a lot to me : )**

**Electra2Pandora**


	9. 9 Marked

_**9. Marked**_

Allisandra walked with an extra spring in her step. It had been five days since she had arrived at Slytherin Manor and Tom had done everything he possibly could to keep her away from Persephone, muttering profanities about her being a 'bad, insufferable influence.' She had let that one slide, but if he annoyed her again he'd discover that his wardrobe had turned pink overnight.

She had observed the two of them together, and she had to admit Tom was doing a good job. He'd sit next to Persephone at meals and casually brush against her, tease her with words until she was blushing and generally stayed in rooms with her until she had grown accustomed to his presence.

Of course, she still called him a bastard and sent him packing more times than not, but Allisandra considered these amusing bonuses. Besides, he needed someone else in his life that didn't add to his already massive ego.

Allisandra found herself between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, she wanted them together quickly so that the dark could have their Dark Lady; on the other, she found it hilarious when Persephone told Tom where he could stuff it.

Either way, Persephone would cave. She had seen it, after all, and she was never wrong.

She had known Persephone almost as well as she knew herself before she was even born. Persephone was very important, and Allisandra was one of the ones entrusted with her care.

No one would harm the girl she had come to see as her grandchild. 

She stopped walking and cocked her head to the side as a vision suddenly rose in front of her eyes. She chuckled lowly and decided to remain in her room for the rest of the day.

The claiming started today.

…

Severus Snape stepped out of the flames into the sitting room of Malfoy Manor where Lucius waited to greet him.

"Severus," he said formally, nodding his head. "I thought term started today?"

"It does," Snape replied. "Incidentally, I do not have to be there until the opening feast and as such, have a few remaining hours of freedom from the brats." Lucius smirked.

"I'll never understand how you, of all people, became a teacher Severus," he said amusedly, leading Snape over to the lounge chairs surrounding a coffee table that they sat on either side on.

"It has its advantages," he replied as Lucius poured both of them two fingers width of single malt scotch and handed him his glass.

"Indeed," Lucius replied. "At least you have yourself surrounded with your potions. Perhaps you shall find the next prodigy."

Snape snorted in return. "I am surrounded by ineptness in general, with a few exceptions that are mediocre which is, with the current height of talent within that school, a compliment."

Lucius let out a low chuckle at his sons' godfathers' speech. "Surely there is some? I hear the Greengrass's are quite talented in their studies, or the young Nott heir, perhaps."

"Not enough for my full attention," remarked Severus snarkily and took a sip of his scotch, enjoying the way the alcohol burned the back of his throat as he smoothed it over his tongue.

Lucius let out a sigh. "Such a shame the Lestrange heiress doesn't attend, she shows remarkable aptitude in all her studies," he said, a small note of pride in his voice.

"Really?" said Snape archly, not believing a word. The Lestrange girl was Lucius's niece after all, and purebloods loved to lord their families over others.

Snape actually had never caught a glimpse of the Lestrange girl, Persephone if he remembered rightly. Besides, he doubted that Bellatrix would be caught dead with her daughter within the 'dirty half-blood spy's' presence. He had heard about her, of course. The Darkest of the houses buzzed on about her constantly. Snape, however, thought that all that glimmered was not gold and knew better than to get caught up in the hype that surrounded a person. Take Potter, for example. People fell over their feet to simply get him to _glance _at them in school and look at the prat he was. He wasn't even close to deserving Lily.

But still, he wondered if he should inform Dumbledore to keep an eye out for her.

_No_, he thought. A Lestrange was not going to join the light, and a simple teen was not going to be an important player in the war when there were contenders like Greyback and Dolohov in the game, even if she was Bellatrix's daughter. He had much more important things to deal with.

He sat back in his chair and tipped back his glass.

…

Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood and Ronald and Ginevra Weasley sat quietly on a train, all immersed in their thoughts as they had since both Hermione and Ron had returned from their prefect rounds with the exception of Luna who was reading the latest issue of the Quibbler upside down despite the scandalised looks Hermione was sending the girls way. These five had been friends for as long as they had entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Luna and Ginny had joined the trio during their uneventful second year and despite all their differences, they were great friends.

The most important thing they had in common at the moment, however, was the order. The Weasley's had been staying at Grimmauld Place, the old Black home that Sirius had gleefully had redone red and gold much to his mother's portrait consternation. Hermione and Neville had both come to stay there as well for part of the Summer to see them and Luna had been off back packing with her father while looking for a crumple horned snorclack but she had kept in touch with a constant flow of letters.

It was Hermione who broke the silence, her voice hesitant.

"Mrs. Potter looked so… sad," she said. Ron shrugged.

"She always does when term starts," he replied.

"But why?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I think," said Ginny, "it's because of her daughter."

"But she doesn't have a daughter," Hermione said confusedly, eyebrows furrowing.

"She did," said Neville. "Rose Potter, she disappeared when she was one. The dark mark was above the house. Everyone says she is dead but the Potter's, Black and Lupin all say she was just kidnapped, but it's still hard for them when certain dates that they should be with her come around, like today."

"That's awful!" cried Hermione and everyone nodded gravely.

"Deatheaters aren't known for their kindness, Hermione," said Ron with a hard glaze to his eyes.

"What I want to know," said Ginny, "is what this prophecy is that lot is on about."

Neville frowned as he looked out the window at the passing country side. He wanted to know about that too. They had listened to parts of the Order meetings that were held by its leaders using extendable ears that the Weasley twins Fredrick (known as Fred) and George had developed but Mrs. Weasley had caught them and it had become increasingly difficult to spy.

"Have you noticed," Hermione said lowly, "that the Order has been watching Neville more closely since they started talking about the prophecy?"

Neville sat back, stunned. Now that she mentioned it (and you could usually rely on Hermione for these types of things, she was uncommonly observant) they had. But why? Surely there was no prophecy about him? He wasn't absolutely horrid at magic but he was no prodigy either.

"Perhaps it applied to a hope that they had lost but still search for, and Neville was the second candidate," Luna supplied dreamily as everyone stared at her and blinked, before dismissing it. Neville sat back in his chair.

"I think," he said, "we need to look further into this."

He could tell by the sudden determination in everyone's eyes that they agreed.

These five students, however ranging brilliant they were in their own right, had no idea that somewhere else in England one of the prophecies they had discussed and resolved to discover had begun.

…

Tom glanced at Persephone out of the corner of his eye.

She was wearing a white cocktail length dress. It cut low on her chest with a sheer over layer stitched with floral patterns overtop that cut high on her neck like the rich ladies of older times used to and, he had saw when he entered the room, tiny white buttons that went all the way down the back. Her red hair was pinned with delicate flower tipped pins and her lips were accentuated with a touch of red.

She was restless, he could tell, aching for something to do. Up until now she had always had a project, something to work on, but now her day only consisted of reading something in the library she had already half demolished. Tom's eyebrows drew together in thought, trying to think of a suitable activity for someone like Persephone. 

Unfortunately for him, Persephone had already made a large dent in most of the disciplines that the wizarding world had to offer, all of which she had learned at an astonishingly quick pace. It could simply be that her mental capabilities were 'beyond her age' because technically her soul was the same age as him.

Persephone didn't _look _her age; she seemed to be more around the eighteen mark. Tom attested her accelerated growth to the fact that she would be claimed soon and her body had to be a certain age. 

_Still_, his mind said, getting back to the original line of thought. She was his and he wanted her safe, but at the same time he needed her to get used to certain situations. She would rule next to him wherever he went, she wouldn't be content to simply sit on a throne while he fought. 

She was opposing him, still slightly scared of what he represented. But still, perhaps it was time to start the first step of claiming. She was ready. 

Tom looked up at her fully, her head still buried in her book. "Persephone," he said, barely aware of how his voice caressed every syllable. "You have remained in this house for over a week without being in the care of one of your guardians and as an unaffiliated party, correct?"

"Yes," said Persephone simply, not looking up.

"Then you are required to swear your allegiance to the dark," Tom said and her head jerked up to stare at him, wide eyed. 

"More importantly," he said, "you are required to swear your allegiance to me."

She blinked as she stared into the victory filled glacial blue eyes. Fear, excitement and pleasure curled in her belly. 

"Alright," she said softly.

It would be months more before she realised these feeling weren't because she was swearing to the _dark. _

…**.**

She followed his long elegant strides down the dark hallway, his black robes flaring out behind him as her bare feet padded softly against the ground. Riddle hadn't given her time to put her shoes back on which she had kicked off to curl up on the chair. Without heels which she had grown used to standing, running and even duelling in (her mother insisted on teaching her because apparently it was important to look stylish when you duel. Thank Morgana there were spells on all if her heels for extra balance, anti-breaking, extra speed and charms that prevented her from rolling an ankle) and that gave her a welcome added four inches to her unimpressive height. She felt small and vulnerable with Riddle without them. Everything about him was just so suave and dark. He was black fire dancing around her, constantly taunting and searing her skin before dancing away. She was scared; people who played with fire got burned. 

And people she loved got hurt. 

The only people she had allowed to stay close to her were her family. She had tried to push them away, and had to some degree succeeded, but they had still stayed with her even if they were more distant. They still doted on her, remembered the real her behind the mask. But still, her rules were clear, no one got close. There was nobody she felt strongly enough about for them to be able to surpass her barriers.

But he was getting close.

He threw her off balance, made her normally hidden or feigned emotions truly show on her face and talk without carefully weighing the outcome each word would have first. 

She should hate him for it, but she couldn't. She was scared for him and for herself.

She wouldn't allow herself to name the emotion she was feeling though. Her mind wouldn't let her accept it yet.

Riddle opened a door and held it open for her to step through. As she passed him she breathed in the delicious smell of dark, sweet musk that was so uniquely him. 

It was then she realised where she was. The room was long and made completely out of stone, the ceiling which usually depicted a painting was instead was a deep black of the night sky, slightly shimmering stars providing a muted light. A throne of obsidian stood proudly at the end, and a pool of green mist contained within the same stone was half way between it and the entrance. 

Riddle strode through behind her and came to a stop in front of the pool, the green reflecting off his face. He held up a hand to her, and Persephone slowly began making her way over to him from where she had paused just past the doorway. His hand clasped around her left wrist, pulling her flush against his body and snaking his other arm around her back as he held her arms away from him so he could study the underside of her wrist. Persephone's breath caught. He flashed a smirk at her before studying her wrist some more, his eyebrows pulling together.

"No," he said eventually. "I think not." Persephone was confused. Had he changed his mind? But why trap her into this if he didn't even really want her to become a deatheater? Tom released her and began to pace, a contemplating look on his face.

Then he paused and turned to smirk at her.

"Take off your clothes," he said simply. Persephone stared.

"Excuse me?" she said. Riddle's eyebrows raised as his smirk widened.

"Don't you wish to receive your mark?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Persephone slowly.

"Then strip."

Persephone didn't see the correlation between stripping and receiving a mark on her _arm_, but maybe it was a tradition? If it was, it was a strange one. She had heard of people stripping at events like Beltane, she guessed, but to become a deatheater?

She drew in a deep breath and looked up at Riddle before raising her own manicured eyebrows.

"I have trouble undoing the buttons," she told him, hoping to get out of it.

"Well Miss Lestrange, I'll just have to help you." He advanced towards her. Persephone moved to step back but held her position. He ran his fingers over her shoulders as he circled around her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck as his fingers began to gently work on the buttons. Persephone felt the cool air of the room hit her back and she shivered slightly. Riddle reached the very bottom and he eased his long fingered hands against her lower back, smoothing them until there was one securely on either side of her waist. It felt oddly like a power play, as if he was claiming hers as _his. _For just a second, purely a second, even though she was in one of the most vulnerable moments of her life, she felt safe.

His hands moved up her sides slowly and tantalizingly, rubbing slightly against her breasts that lacked a bra because the design of her dress hadn't made it necessary because of the boning and charms placed upon it. They slowly smoothed over her shoulders before shrugging the dress off.

Left in nothing but her white lace panties, chosen so that they wouldn't show under the dress, Persephone shivered but did not say a word. This was not Riddle she was dealing with, this was Lord Voldemort.

His arms encircled her from behind, pulling her against him. An arm left it place from around her to reach up and pull the pins out of her hair, letting it cascade around her and brush against halfway down her back. His arm moved lower again, sliding against her hip and pushing down her panties so she was naked to him. He leaned in and pulled the lobe of her ear between his teeth and she gasped softly. She heard him chuckle lowly before releasing her and striding to stand in front of the pool once more.

He drew his yew wand and held out his left hand, casting a silent cutting curse. Persephone bit her lip as his crimson blood dripped into the obsidian pit. The pool shone a bright eerie green as he dipped his wand in then drew it back out again. Green wisps clung to the end of his wand like a memory. His ice blue eyes looked up from his work to look into hers. Persephone walked until she stood in front of him, knowing instinctively what he wanted. He raised his wand and placed the cool tip against her collar bone before drawing it back slightly so it was about a centimetre from her skin.

Persephone watched in fascination as he drew a curving line in the air, arcing down, moving left and then right before coming to a stop at her right hip where he gently touched the wand to her skin again leaving a trail of glowing emerald green hanging in the air.

The trail hung, before drawing itself into her skin. She felt nothing for a little while and then she screamed with pain. She was on fire, white hot stabbing pain so hot it was cold. She wasn't aware of what was going on around her, she wasn't even aware of her own name only the Slytherin Green magic that had enfolded itself around her.

Then it stopped.

She was hanging limp in Tom's arms as his arm stroked up and down her back almost lovingly, whispering soothing words in her ear, her own arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He gently lowered her to the floor so she could catch her breath, his fingers trailing over her skin.

It was then she felt the oddest tingling sensation. She sat up quickly looked down and gasped. A black snake with a silver diamond pattern expanding down its' back from the head on her hip to the end of its tail on her collar bone started to slither across her skin, moving around her torso and working its way up to her shoulders before wrapping itself around the upper part of her left arm. It wasn't a _snake _though; it was a tattoo with unnaturally bright green emerald eyes. This was her mark. Persephone frowned. She knew the dark mark well; it was a snake protruding from a skull that was on the inner left forearm of all the deatheaters and this was most definitely not it. She looked up at her Lord, a question burning in her hazel eyes. He read the question correctly.

"You are not an average deatheater Persephone," he said softly. "You are so much more, and your mark reflects that."

Persephone frowned again. Surely for all that she was, she wasn't more valuable than a member of the inner circle?

Riddle reached out and brushed the hair out of her eyes, leaning in and kissing her. Ironically, considering she was naked, this wasn't like their other kisses where he showed his power over her. This was slow and sweet, taking his time as his lips moved gently against hers and his tongue reverently worshipped her as his hands cradled her face. He pulled back unhurriedly and gazed into her almond shaped eyes.

"You'll figure it out one day soon, Persephone," he whispered. "But until then, all you have to know is that you are mine." He stood up suddenly, towering above her. A smirk worked its way firmly onto his face as he finally appreciated the view of the beautiful being that was the other half of his soul.

"Welcome, _officially_, to the Dark side. "

…

**And another chapter down. I am so sorry for not updating lately but work got in the way! Also a huge thanks to everyone who followed, reviewed and favourite. **

**Just for clarification, Voldemort never lost his body so the whole stone fiasco, the possession of Ginny and a prisoner escaping from Azkaban didn't happen though an alternative version of what happened at the end of the Triwizard Tournament did happen as you already know. **

**A dark scene about Persephone here. I like this because even though Tom has her at his complete mercy, he loves her enough to let her wait even though they don't say anything about it to each other, they understand completely. **

**The first prophecy still could apply to Neville like in the books, but everyone finds this extremely unlikely because he is not marked as an equal. They know Seph might still be alive (or Rose as they know her) but this is just a theory. **

**Also, ****brownie points to both bookaddict19 and Im Ity**** for pointing out that December the 21****st**** is actually the Winter Solstice. I'm so sorry! It was an honest mistake. I live in Australia and I thought to myself "so their Summer solstice is when we have our Winter solstice" or something along those lines I can't really remember and now I am kicking myself for my stupidity. To avoid confusion it will now be referred to as THE solstice so I don't confuse myself. Problem solved. Or I can refer to it as the Winter Solstice now I know what it is since that is the logical thing to do. Yeah. **

**Also, check out the beginnings of my new Fanfiction **_**Unspeakable Agents **_**which is at the moment is going to be updated slowly since my main attention is on this. It's still in REALLY early stages but please check it out!**

**Anyway, XXX**

**Electra2Pandora**


	10. 10 Deatheaters

_**10. Deatheaters**_

Three figures wearing identical black hooded cloaks walked down a stone cobbled street. It was dark from the shadows cast from the tall buildings in the setting sun. The tallest of the figures opened a door with the accompanying chime of the bell and ushered the other two inside.

The store was old with a slight sheen of dust coating the various bizarre objects that were contained on the mismatched shelves and placed in precarious piles that reached all the way up to the ceiling. The store owner, a man who seemed to be in his early thirties with dark blonde hair and brown eyes, glanced up to take them in.

He didn't seem put off with the mysterious figures, in fact he seemed used to having strange customers and more usually than not, ones that appeared to be on the wrong side of the law. The middle figure approached the desk while the other two fanned out to browse the wares. He briefly glimpsed a feminine hand complete with a diamond ring trailing over the rim of a silver goblet before it was pulled back within the confines of the cloak. The tallest figure that had approached him cleared their throat to gain his attention, and the storekeeper raised his eyebrows as he glanced back to him, waiting for him to speak

The figure flipped back the cowl of his hood to reveal an aristocratic face with a strong, block jaw and thin lips. The man's pale blue eyes stared evenly at the storekeeper, assessing him. After all, Rudolphus Lestrange was nothing if not careful.

"We heard you're a man with connections," he said in his deep voice. The storekeeper raised his eyebrows.

"Who is asking?" he queried.

"People who find you a valuable asset," said the one on the right side of the room, a male from hid voice.

"Of course, our group would be more of an asset to you than the other way around," the first man told him stoically.

"I take it," he said carefully, "that this group is larger than the three of you." A derisive snort was heard from the left side of the room.

"Quite," said the female.

"You are quite a hard man to find, Owain Selwyn," the first figure said.

"It's nearly simply unheard of, an English wizard being so set up so well this far away from home," the other male put in.

The female pulled out her wand and waved it sharply causing the sign on the door to turn to 'close' and the curtains pulled shut, momentarily shrouding the room into darkness before the candles strewn across the room caught alight. The other two figures finally lowered their hoods. The other male look much like the first, but this one was shorter and his features weren't quite as strong and his eyes were a shade darker. The woman had black curly hair securely pinned to her head that contrasted pleasantly with her pale skin. She had dark, heavily lidded eyes and high cheekbones and was very pretty in a sensual way.

Selwyn frowned and the smaller man's smirk widened. He casually brought up his left sleeve, briefly revealing the tail of a black snake tattooed on his arm before releasing it and Selwyn's eyes widened in excitement.

"Your deatheaters," he breathed. "You want me to join?"

"Yes," said the taller man. "But we need your help in tracking down two others who will prove useful to us."

"And their names are?" asked Selwyn.

"Elric Travers and Nathaniel Krustoffski," he replied. Selwyn let out a low whistle.

"Two hard people to track down," he said.

"Can you do it?" snapped the female and Selwyn nodded.

"Yes, but it will take time and even then, they aren't the type of people you just walk up to on the street."

"That's our job," said the man on the right side of the shop. "You just worry about finding them."

"If you can," sneered the woman.

Owain Selwyn just smiled.

…

Lily and James Potter kept each other locked in a tight embrace.

"You need to rest Lily," admonished James lightly. Lily drew a shuddering breath.

"I can't," she said. "Now we know that there could be a clue to where she is, proof that she is alive. I _need _to find her James. I need her so much it _hurts._"

"I know," he said. "I feel the same way too. But we need to take care of ourselves as well, baby. I'm sure Rose won't thank us for finding her only to see the worn out husks of our former selves. If a deatheater were to cross you the way you are at the moment honey, they could make you topple over from breathing too hard."

Lily let out a small giggle. James drew back to look into her face; at her high cheekbones, beautiful creamy complexion, petite nose, almond shaped emerald eyes framed by thick long lashes. He brushed an errant flame red curl out of her face and smiled at her.

"I love you and your tenacity, your sweetness, your stubbornness and your dedication but you are not immortal. Get some rest Lily, the search will still be there tomorrow."

"Alright," Lily replied. "You're right. I'll get some sleep."

James smiled softly at her and gently began leading her up the stairs with her leaning against him.

"I did find something," Lily told him tiredly.

"What did you find?" he asked as he pushed open their bedroom door.

"The prophecy, the first one, was recorded to be broken but a month later it is documented to be in perfect condition." Lily yawned and climbed into the bed under the sheets, snuggling her cheek into the soft pillow. "I'm sure it's nothing," she said, half asleep already.

"Yeah, nothing," echoed James but the faintest feeling of suspicion rose up within him.

Perhaps, he thought, just perhaps he had found a lead to his daughter.

…**.**

Persephone sipped her cup of tea quietly, glancing at Riddle out of the corner of her eye. He had finished his breakfast and was reading the newspaper carefully.

He looked so _normal _now, almost domestic at the large dining table only occupied by them. Persephone wondered once again why she was still permitted here as she was. Draco was the child of a member of the inner circle to and Riddle wasn't paying much attention to him.

She bit the inside of her lip, taking in his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips as he read something that didn't quite please him that would change instantly to a light of vicious amusement lit behind ice blue eyes and a smirk when his eyes flicked to the next article.

He had been around her so much these last few weeks, simply in her presence while saying hardly a word that she had begun to know all his little mannerisms. When eating, he would always leave his meat to last, he refused to look up before finishing his page when reading, and he never strayed from the colours of green, black, grey and navy blue. His eyebrows twitched when he was irritated, one side of his mouth pulled up slightly more than the other when he truly smiled and he scratched his forehead when he was deep in thought.

Riddle snapped the paper closed, ending Persephone's thought as his eyes bored into hers.

"We have an outing today," he said, taking a sip of his own tea. Persephone blinked.

"An outing?" she asked. He smirked.

"I could call it a social gathering planned especially for a murder if you prefer," he said amusedly.

"Oh," she replied. "No, outing works just fine. The other is a bit of a mouthful, is it not?"

"Indeed," he said, standing. "Come," he said as he strode out the room. Persephone stood and walked quickly after him.

"I spend half of my life following him through hallways," muttered Persephone. "Where are we going, anyway?" she said louder so he could hear.

"Your room, at the moment," he called over his shoulder and Persephone looked bewildered.

"Why?" she asked as he reached the door, pulled it open and ushered her inside before swinging it shut with a resounding, and very final to Persephone's ear, thud. He strode through the doorway to her walk in closet and Persephone followed in bemusement.

Riddle sent her a smirk. "You need to be dressed just right to kill someone."

Persephone felt a flutter in her stomach. She had been raised in the old ways believing the purebloods were superior, half-bloods pure half if they had a pureblood parent could override the tainted half occasionally and on a very rare nearly unheard of occasion a mudblood could be instead born as what was referred to as a 'first generation', but one of those hadn't been seen for decades.

Even with the way she was raised and her new allegiance to the man in front of her, Persephone was still what was considered a neutral. She had her whole 'holier than thou' persona pat down and even believed it to a certain extent, but she believed that people should be given a chance to prove that they were superior, too.

She chewed the inside of her lip while Riddle examined her outfits critically; searching for what suited his needs. He finally pulled out a sleeveless navy blue lace knee length dress that flared out at the waist where it was lined with a plain black ribbon and a black hooded cloak that extended all the way to the floor.

"A dress?" said Persephone. "You want me to wear a dress?"

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Are you permitted to wear anything else?"

Persephone's lips thinned. As one of the unspoken pureblood rules, the only times a woman was allowed to wear pants was when they were riding a horse or a broomstick. "No," she grumbled. He smiled, one of the real ones with the right side of his mouth pulling higher.

"Put them on," he said, laying them on the ottoman in the centre of the room. Persephone hesitated. "I've seen you naked before, you know," Riddle told her, drifting over to the shelves that contained shoes. Persephone very slowly began to take off the dress she was currently wearing, a simple grey cotton number, and pulled it over her head exposing her black strapless bra and panties and unzipping the back of the navy dress so she could slip it on. She held it out and stepped inside of it, pulling it up and slipping her arms through the sleeves which exposed her mark which was wrapped around her wrist and lower forearm today. Riddle came towards her with closed in black high heels complete with laces, setting them down on the floor before going around to her back.

He gathered her flame red hair and placed it softly over her shoulder. He grabbed the zipper between his thumb and his pointer and slowly pulled it up all the way to the top. It was an oddly intimate gesture that Persephone wondered to herself over as he took her hand and lead her over to the ottoman where she sat down. He kneeled before her, making her point her toes as he placed the shoe on her left foot and tightly doing up the laces before doing the same to the other. Persephone stayed silent through the process hardly daring to speak a word, but the routines of it relaxed her to an almost meditative state as she felt his warm breath on her lower leg and the tugs against her feet as he tightened her laces. Her tattoo tingled at his proximity, adding to her careless bliss as she half closed her eyes with a relaxed smile crossing her face.

Tom looked up at her when he finished tying the lace and Persephone absently reached out a hand to run it through his slightly wavy black tresses. He stayed absolutely still, as if he was scared of frightening her way as she gently stroked his hair with her delicate fingers.

"We have to go," whispered Tom. Persephone came back to herself and jerked her hand away as if burned while Riddle's mouth tugged at one corner. He drew his wand, pointed it at the door and flicked, waiting patiently for what he had summoned. A black box zoomed in and he caught it deftly, setting it down and lifting the lid. Inside was an ornate silver Venetian half mask encrusted with emeralds and a delicate swirling pattern along its thin metal exterior. He picked it up gently and held it in front of her face, the metal cool against her creamy skin where it fit snugly into place. Her mark warmed briefly before cooling again. Riddle withdrew his hand, resting it instead in his lap.

"It has various charms on it," he told her. "There's a sticking one to keep it up, dozens of protective and a delayed notice-me-not enchantment."

"A delayed charm?" Persephone queried.

"They'll be able to remember all your features when looking at you but after that you'll become hazy. They'll remember little things, your height, your power, your beauty but they won't be able to accurately describe you."

Persephone felt a warm glow at being called beautiful by him that she tried to ignore but couldn't. What was it about him that drew her in, that beat down her walls and enraptured her to everything about him? She had been raised to respect their Lord, to follow his every command without question but the Lord was Riddle, too.

"Like the deatheaters, your mask is keyed to your mark. You can use your wand to banish it into your mark and summon it. For the moment, never let anyone see your face, do you understand me?" Persephone nodded.

He stood, once again startling her and waiting for her to stand. She stood and pulled on her black cloak, walking over to the dresser to collect some pins and quickly plaited her hair into an elegant style atop of her head. Riddle grabbed her left hand and pulled her out of the room and all the way to what had been dubbed as 'the cloak room'. It was a room filled with, as suggested, cloaks. The unique thing about this room however was that if you bore the dark mark you were able to apparate in and out of it.

He tightened his hold of her hand, turning toward her without letting go and pulling the cowl of her hood up. Then he released her only to put both of his hands securely around her waist and after a moment's pause as Persephone's only warning turning sharply. The world twisted and a familiar sensation of not being able to breath appeared as they disapparated from Slytherin Manor.

…

With an almost silent _crack _two figures appeared in the green rolling hills of the countryside. There was nothing for miles all around, save for a simple decrepit barn.

"Stay close," Riddle whispered, starting towards it, Persephone just behind both with wands drawn.

Riddle pushed the overly large door, and it creaked open slowly revealing the interior. It was two storeys high, the second being only a hay loft. It was comprised of wood that was rotting away in places and stone covered the floor. It was a little too warm, and if they were muggles with uncharmed clothing they would have found the heat uncomfortable. Persephone's eyes narrowed.

There were no animals, yet straws of fresh hay were on the ground, spaced in no particular way. Her eyes slowly travelled up to the hayloft that was cast in shadows from the roof, sweeping the length of it. They finally zeroed in on a hazy near the centre, too hazy for it to be explained away by her eyes being unfocused from the distance…

On instinct she cast a stunner. The red light was absorbed by an invisible substance. The hazy area tipped forward, slowly regaining visibility as it fell through the air and finally colliding with the ground with the _crack_ breaking bones. Riddle strode towards the figure, using his foot to turn it over before smirking in victory and summoning the stranger's wand to him.

"Envenerate," he intoned and the man spluttered awake, his eyes bleary until they sharpened with acute fear.

"No my Lord," he stammered. "Please, I beg mercy!"

"There is no mercy for you, Karkaroff," Riddle said coolly and Karkaroff paled.

"Karkaroff?" Persephone exclaimed, sneering derisively. "The traitor?"

"Indeed, Milady," Riddle said, echoing his words from the ball that seemed like a life ago.

"My Lady?" Karkaroff said, paling even further. Persephone's eyebrows, unseen behind the shadows of the cloak and her mask rose. Why was he scared of that name?

"Did I permit you to speak to her, Karkaroff?" Riddle snarled.

"I-I-no. Forgive me Master, I meant no-"

"Cease your pathetic snivelling, Karkaroff. You are giving me a headache." Karkaroff gulped, eyes searching frantically for an escape.

"I did nothing wrong," he tried weakly and Riddle's eyes gleamed murderously.

"Nothing wrong," he repeated softly. "Then what is it called when you attempt to sell out nine of your brothers to save your own skin?"

Karkaroff's eyes widened, though surely he knew it was coming. Riddle smirked.

"Persephone," he said. "Stand next to me please." Persephone closed the gap between them, standing on his right. He move behind her, pressing against her back, reaching out and grabbing the back of her right hand, dwarfed within his, so he could control it. He lowered his mouth to her ear.

"Now," he said lowly. "I know that you know dark spells and I know that you know the Unforgivables. However I doubt you have ever had the chance to perform them on a human being." Persephone inclined her head to show he was correct. "What I want you to do," he continued, "is to do the spells I say. We're going to make him scream, beg and _plead_, Persephone. We will make him see that death is a mercy." She shivered at his words, for the first time truly understanding what a horrible mistake it would be to have this man as your enemy.

"Let us start easy on him, shall we?" he asked almost pleasantly. "_Exta entuntur." _

She tortured him, caused him pain both mentally and physically under Tom's guidance, his hand directing hers. His dark magic pulsed around her, dancing across her own skin, lashing out against the traitor as he screeched. Her hood fell back, revealing her blood red lips curled up in a vicious smirk, her creamy complexion bright with an excited flush and her eyes shining with something akin to amusement.

If an outsider was to watch this scene, the irony would be obvious: two beings, so beautiful and raw that they resembled angels, the purest of souls, torturing a man to death. But even an angel can fall, and these two were Lucifer and Lucinda.

Riddle's voice urged her on, purring encouragements and spells; instructions when she didn't do it right and had to do it again. Karkaroff begged and screamed and cried as they destroyed his body, his entrails spilt, his fingers severed, his legs snapped, his hair set on fire, his heart still beating on the floor beside him. They broke him completely and utterly, the screams eventually sending little thrills through Persephone's body as she grew used to them. She began to laugh, the pealing sound almost musical as Karkaroff's screams turned into little moans as she tore out his voice box, blood pooling around him. Tom chuckled richly in her ear, spinning her around and holding her tightly to him. He crashed his mouth to hers, pushing her for all she was worth, a hand running down her back before grabbing her thigh and pulling it so it wrapped around his waist. Caught up in ecstasy, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, arching herself into him as glassy eyes watched lifelessly from the newly dead body on the ground.

Persephone's soul, previously the white of a neutral, slowly began to darken.

…

**Hi everyone!**

**Very dark scene here with Persephone. I just want to make it clear that she will not stand for anyone harming children or severely harming teenagers or the elderly. She is obviously dark though, what did you expect from someone destined to be the Dark Lady? **

**I wanted to remind you all that James and Lily do exist. It's going to be interesting when they work out Persephone is their daughter. **

**And just what are the Lestrange's up too?**

**Also, do you like this or the last cover better? Should I keep it or change back?**

**Thanks, as always to all those who reviewed and followed and favourite. **

**Special thanks to Snarrylover91**** for suggesting some new fanfic's for me to read. I love them all as long as they are interesting :)**

**Thank you all so much for reading, **

**XXX Electra2Pandora**


	11. 11 A Lost Soul

_**11. A Lost Soul**_

Mist hung in the air, clinging to everything it came in contact with. She could hear water trickling in the distance, foliage beneath her bare feet. Persephone was in the forest again forgetting, as you so often do in dreams, that she was able to wake up.

The snake unfurled from the tree, wrapping itself around her shoulders.

'_Hunted'_, the wind seemed to whisper to her. '_You were already caught, little riddle.'_

She backed away from the snake; her light grey dress seemed to float a millimetre from the ground.

"No," she whispered back. "I will not be caught."

'_Oh, but you will, little rose. Your soul doesn't lie. '_

"No!" she shouted, backing away as if it was a corporeal presence.

'_You fear this; you fear intimacy with anyone, Rose, because of Noel, because of your masks and because you know that something isn't quite right, is it Rose?'_

"My name is not Rose, it is Persephone!"

'_Just as the original Persephone's name was Korë, you are Rose. Don't you remember?'_

"Remember what!"

'_Oh, I see. Are you blocking it out then like you did with Noel, or are you ignoring the signs? Both perhaps? '_

"Leave me alone," she shouted, turning and running, her heart pounding in her ears.

But you can't outrun your own mind.

The voice's laughter echoed around her as the mist grew thicker, her breaths more desperate.

'Riddle me this,  
Riddle me that,  
Ring around a Rosie,  
Betrayed by a rat.

Darkness overtakes,  
But surely you understand?  
Roses born in the Lestrange family,  
Are short on demand.

Or perhaps you simply dread,  
And block it all out instead?  
Because we all know what happens to Rosie's friends,  
They all always fall down in the end.'

"Stop it!" she screamed, collapsing against a tree. She couldn't run from herself.

'_Scared, Rosie? Scared of Tom?'_

"If I am so scared of him, why do I kiss him? Why do I stay where he does?"

The voice giggled. '_Oh no, Rosie, that's what you refer to as lust. You don't have to be close for that.'_

"So? I don't want to love him, he's not a part of me," she argued. A painful burn suddenly erupted in her arm. She yelped and looked down. A familiar black snake was emerging from her arm; it's very real scales rubbing against her skin as it curled tightly around her arm. It angled its head so it was looming up towards her as luminous green eyes faded into red.

'_Oh, but he is,_' the voice whispered softly. '_In more ways than you know_.'

"But he's so… dark. How can he be a part of me? I'm not-"

'_Aren't you? You tortured Karkaroff and you enjoyed it. What is that if you are not dark_?'

Persephone quietened at this. She had always been from a dark family, most of the people she consorted with were too, but she had never thought that she herself would be dark. She had always been in the grey area like Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Theodore, Millicent and so many others.

'_They've lived perfect lives without guilt or hate festering at them as it has with Tom, the Lestrange's or you. Otherwise, you would be the same.'_

"What do you want?" Persephone whispered brokenly.

'_The question is: what do you want? As much as you separate yourself from me, we are in the end the same.'_

She jolted awake, breathing hard, the dream already too hazy for her to remember the details.

That's the annoying thing about dreams, you can never remember them but the state of mind you were in for whatever it was affects your whole day.

And if you do remember what it was, chances were it was because it simply didn't make any sense at all.

For no reason that she could discern, she curled up in a ball and started to cry, the feeling of being lost prevailing through all her confusion. Anxiety built up within her and her hands started shaking, frightened of something she could not remember.

In that moment Persephone made a terrifying discovery after years of keeping her distance from everyone around her: she was terrified of being alone.

She smiled weakly before it swiftly turned into a grimace, the irony was stifling.

…

Tom twirled his wand between his fingers absently, sitting upright in the armchair in the sitting room that adjoined the master suit.

A feeling kept him from even attempting to sleep. It was a sort of buzz in the back of his mind, as if he had forgotten something.

It grew slightly, peaking as an emotion he had not felt for years flooded his body: fear.

But why would he feel fear? He was inside the walls of his own home, he had his horcruxes to keep himself from death, Persephone was asleep in her room… ah.

The mark linked them, let them draw upon each other, alerted them when the other came to harm and shared any extreme emotions.

She was terrified.

He was up and out the door before his mind caught up with his feet, walking into the hallway and over to the next door on the left. It would have been quicker if he had entered through the adjoining passage of course, but he did not wish to bewilder her any more than what she already was.

But what if she was in trouble and he had wasted precious time?

He cursed and threw open her door

There she was in a black satin short nightie, her red hair with its natural curls cascading down her back, her pale slender arms wrapped around her legs as she rested her head against her knees.

"Persephone," he whispered in Parseltongue.

She sniffed and looked up, her beautiful hazel eyes red from crying.

"Oh, Persephone," he breathed, sitting by her side in a second, arms wrapping around her and pulling her against his chest as she cried.

"Shh, calm down. I am here, all is fine."

She slowly quietened, her hand clutching his robes, her body trembling as her chest heaved with large, trembling breaths until they evened out.

She peeked up at him, her long dark lashes still damp from her tears, a small smile of gratitude on her face before she came back to herself.

"I apologise," she said, trying to withdraw herself from his grasp but he simply tightened his hold on her. She relaxed back into his hold, a look of relief crossing her face as if she hadn't wanted to leave his arms in the first place.

"Will you be alright?" he asked her, stroking a thumb along her jawline.

"You know, most people ask 'are you alright'," she said lightly. A smile twitched his lips.

"I have always found that exceedingly annoying. If someone is upset, they are most obviously not 'alright'."

She giggled slightly, nodding her head before sobering. "I don't know," she whispered. "I know I could be eventually, but scars always leave traces, she said, absently trailing her finger over the silver lightning bolt on her left wrist.

"Can I help?" Tom asked, moving his hand to tilt her face up towards him so she was looking at him straight in the eye.

"I-" she faltered. "I don't want to be alone," she said, cuddling back into his chest. He let her rest there for a little while, and then slid both of his arms under her, picking her up bridal style. He was aware of her quizzical looks at him as he carried her across his room, utilising some wandless magic on a vase that rested on a dresser. It twisted in a quarter of a circle and a blank section of the wall became translucent. He sent her a smirk, striding right through it and into his own room, dimly aware of the wall solidifying again.

He gently rested her on his bed, smoothing the covers over her. He went to his own side and climbed in, sliding his arms around her waist.

"_Sleep, my Persephone," _he hissed. The candles around the room dimmed until they were extinguished as Persephone let her body relaxed into his and she fluttered her eyes shut.

….

Allisandra ran her hand over the chart. Saturn was rising, a time of dawning clarity.  
Her thoughts, as they so often did, turned to the girl she had taken as her charge. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath to stable herself. She opened them abruptly, gazing into the crystal unaware that they now gleamed an inhuman blue.

Images flickered in front of her eyes, mostly too fast for her to distinguish. An army of people swathed in black, their hoods drawn, a red haired woman dancing in a dress the colour of freshly spilt blood, a black unicorn bowing its head, skull dancing in the cloudy sky above a tower, a red rose burning in the snow, another red haired woman, gazing upon her unconscious younger clone.

One vision, however, stood out amongst all the rest. A darkened hall, lit only by a dim but luminous blue lit upon her mind's eye. Shelf after shelf stood, each home to blue orbs that were glowing from an inner light. Five figures raced among the shelves, searching for one in particular. Allisandra felt a sense of foreboding, for who she couldn't be sure. The vision finished, she leant back and sighed. What would come would come. Some things simply couldn't be changed, only better prepared for.

All that mattered for the moment was that their future Dark Lady was warm and safe in her destined lovers arms.

…

Neville Longbottom fumed as his two best friends watched on sympathetically.

"How _dare_ she," he gritted out from between his clenched teeth. "How dare that _toad_ even suggest"

"We know Neville," Hermione said quietly.

"Yeah mate, we all know You-Know-Who is back. Anyone who says differently is just fooling themselves," Ron said.

"But she said- she suggested- like they _faked _being tortured. Dad has a permanent limp, mum has fits- like they _fake _that? That they cause it on _purpose_?"

"Neville, we know. All the Gryffindor's know."

"Seamus doesn't. He said he and his mum don't believe Dumbledore or us and Dean agrees with him!"

"Seamus is just annoyed that he was almost not allowed to come to Hogwarts this year because of the deatheater scares and Dean just follows along to not cause trouble with him," Ron replied. "You-Know-Who hasn't been active in fourteen years before this after all, mate."

"What's troubling though," Hermione said, "is _why _they're all becoming more active again. What variable has changed?"

"Variable?" Ron blinked. Neville too had a blank look on his face, but luckily Hermione's ire was focused on Ron.

"Oh, honestly Ronald! Variable: detail, aspect, factor!"

"Right," mumbled Ron. "Maybe he got bored of all the murdering and stuff, went to Mexico or something."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Neville said drily, his mind momentarily side tracked by the thought of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with a moustache and a sombrero, throwing back a shot of tequila before snorting to himself. Hermione would be outraged at his stereotyping.

"It has to be something important, something big," muttered Hermione, "but what? Oh, I just don't know enough! Maybe there's something in the library?"

"Yes Hermione," said Ron. "Dumbledore, headmaster of the school who has to approve of each individual book for the library, currently the most powerful wizard alive and the leader of the light side would have absolutely no idea if a book containing all the hidden secrets of the dark side and the way to kill a Dark Lord who has been lurking around for fifty years has been for all this time sitting innocently on the shelf in the library in his own school."

Neville was quite impressed with Ron's speech and gave him a thumb up over Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione blinked. "Well, there could be," she said mutinously while both Ron and Neville stifled a groan.

"If only mum hadn't found out about Fred and George's extendable ears," Ron said wishfully.

"Yeah," Neville agreed morosely, it always annoyed him when they were not allowed to know these things because they were 'children'.

"They were an impressive piece of magic," Hermione said, her disapproval of eavesdropping warring with her own unsatisfied curiosity.

They were silent for a while, all lost in their own thoughts.

"You know," Neville said grimly. "There will be a war, eventually. It might have already started without our realising."

"Neville, I hardly think-"

"What were we saying about believing what we want to believe just before, Hermione? You-Know-Who didn't return to England because he missed the tea-"

"Definitely not for the weather at least," Ron said amusedly.

"- and these deaths, disappearances and movements are all strategic! Their moving into the best places possible, having as many allies as they can before they start the final attack!"

"Surely he wouldn't wait fourteen years for one attack," Hermione said dubiously. "I know he's back and evil and all, but he's just a terrorist."

"Just a terrorist," Ron said drawing back, aghast. "Hermione, he's a _Lord_, the bloody heir of Slytherin and he had a whole army! It wasn't like a minority supported him either; our whole society was split in half with the majority of the richer part of it on his side! Can't you see?"

"In _half_?" she said, shocked. "_Half_ supported him murdering people?"

"The wizarding world is old fashioned like that," Neville said wryly.

"Maybe not the murdering part, but mainly that was seen as an unfortunate by-product of his otherwise spectacular political views, in their eyes anyway," Ron told her.

Hermione pursed her lips, her eyes upset. "None of this explains why he waited fourteen years, though."

"He doesn't want any mistakes, lest he spill a drop of pure blood," Neville said darkly.

"Fourteen years though, fourteen? That seems excessively long, doesn't it?"

"Long enough for people to think that you are dead, ain't it? Bloody handy if you want to surprise them when they're unprepared, a Slytherin tactic if I ever saw one," Ron pointed out.

"But he could have done that in a year, five years tops."

"Am I meant to know the inner working of his messed up mind? His crazy, isn't he?"

"So is Dumbledore."

"What is your point, Hermione? _He _is nothing like Dumbledore," Ron growled.

"Of course he isn't. What I am saying is the Dumbledore is crazy, but he is highly intelligent," Hermione said. Both boys acknowledged this, grim looks growing on their faces as they realised what she was getting at. "Dumbledore is a Gryffindor," she continued, "of which a prized trait it rashness. You-Know-Who is a Slytherin, prized for their forward planning. Whatever he has in place is big, and it is something that he thought was worth the fourteen years to obtain. If this war does come, like you both believe, then we are already losing."

…

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore looked down at his papers, frowning at what he read.

"Just what are you up to, Tom?" he whispered. He stood and began to pace in the open floor of his office. What was in Bulgaria that was so important? Why had he not left his house for the last month, not even in a disguise?

What weighed more heavily on his mind was, however, where was _she_?

"Rose Lia Potter." The name was almost like a prayer to him, a hope that hadn't quite left despite years of disappointment. He remembered the child like yesterday; beautiful hazel eyes that glimmered just the same way as her fathers, the adorable chubby face that already showed evidence of her mother's high cheekbones and read hair that curled about her head.

She had been so pure; even so for a child that Albus could not be helped but be reminded of his sister, Arianna. He had vowed to himself to keep her safe, but just like with her predecessor, he had failed.

Was she dead? Was she in a happy family? Was she in the hands of the dark? He couldn't be sure. He hadn't heard a whisper of Rose, of a light child with mischievous eyes. She was out of his reach for the moment.

The prophecy weighed heavy on his mind, too. He knew that Tom knew of the second prophecy too and was searching for it. He was much too arrogant though, believing he could steal it without any research. His hubris was his own downfall, as always.

But if he could get to the prophecy, if he could find Rose, the light would have won. Whoever possessed the saviour had the power, all other schemes were just distractions from the main show.

Albus Dumbledore trusted implicatively the prophecy that Sybil had foretold.

If only he knew that Sybil was never on his side.

…

Ollivander was a man of many talents, his main being crafting. This did not just apply to wands.

He snapped his fingers and the blade dipped into the waiting Blessed Water, steam rising off the surface. Ollivander watched carefully, judging with his eerie silver eyes before he snapped his fingers again and the blade rose from the water and onto the bench top to be examined.

It was a dagger, its long blade wickedly pointy and promising death to any unlucky enough to cross it. It's ornate silver hilt had a carved orobus wrapping around its circumference, inlaid with glimmering emeralds that shone with enchanted green flames.

He summoned the sheath he had made, crafted from the hide of a black Norwegian Ridgeback and slid the dagger securely inside. He carried it across to another bench table where he wrapped it and a thin black enchanted belt inside brown packaging paper, securing it soundly with string. He summoned Nike, his owl, to him and tied it securely to the Barn Owls foot.

"Persephone Riddle," he told Nike. The owl hooted knowingly.

…**.**

**Hi everyone!**

**The usual shebang, thanks for F/F/R!**

**Massive, massive, **_**massive **_**thanks to ****apy ****for the equally massive list of fanfiction's you supplied :) Keep up telling me more fanfics to read, everyone! I've already finished the all (I am a REALLY quick reader if you haven't worked that out, I have four hundred and seven books in my room at the moment, I just counted.)**

**Dumbledore thinks he knows everything that is going on, but he doesn't. **

**Persephone gets a wake-up call not to pull away from Tom so much. The dream was a bit disjointed, but I made it this way because that is how my dreams are. **

**Everything that Allisandra saw are key moments in this fanfic. Look out for them. **

**I just read somewhere in an interview with JKR that one of the reasons Lily's sacrifice to save Harry worked was because she risked two lives for him: hers and the baby she was pregnant with. I cried : ( **

**LOVE YOU ALL, PLEASE REVIEW**

**Electra2Pandora**


	12. 12 Mornings & Spies

**OKAY, quick warning. Because they use Parseltongue so much in this and it is very repetitive to say "s/he said in Parseltongue" and I use italics as emphasis (which is the grammatically correct way to use them and **_**not **_**bold, a pet peeve of mine), Parseltongue will now be written as ":**_**Hiss".**_

…

_**12. Mornings & Spies**_

Persephone smiled in her sleep, basking in the toasty warmth that can only be achieved from a blanket. She felt arms tightening around her waist and warm, steady breaths against her red hair. She opened her eyes slowly to let them adjust to the light that was pouring through a doorway, realising her position. She was snuggled into Riddle, her head on his chest and his arms possessively around her waist. Her leg was thrown over his, pressing their bodies together.

She blinked, wondering if she should wake him up.

It was times like this that confused her. Who was he? Was he the Lord Voldemort, leader of the Dark side; Lord Slytherin the politician or Tom Riddle a dark, frighteningly intelligent and highly infuriating man?

Since she was eleven, the age most were just starting their education, Persephone believed she had everyone worked out. She could manipulate them, outwit them and could make them defer to her as a superior. She had always _felt _much older than what she was, looked it too. She had achieve the pinnacle in society and stood far above anyone's reach.

But then there was _him. _An equal opponent, she had once thought, and he was. But he knew things that she didn't; he had confronted his inner demons while she hadn't. He threw her off balance, made her forget to put her mask up in his presence.

She frowned. She couldn't continually refer to him as the Dark Lord when they were living together, as it was customary to kiss the hem of his robes which she absolutely refused to do. Lord Slytherin similarly was to be curtsied too, and she wished to have full use in her knees in her old age which was highly unlikely if she bobbed into one every five minutes.

Riddle, though she now used it almost affectionately couldn't be used all the time. He was _her _riddle and the connotations behind it had become personal to her, so much so that she didn't want to explain them, even to him. She preferred to refer to him as this only in her mind.

He didn't look like a Tom. As a child in her mind's eye he did, with pouty lips, floppy hair and chubby cheeks that showed evidence of becoming as defined as they looked today.

That left only Marvolo, a very old name in the wizarding world that spoke of power and elegance. The adult he had become suited Marvolo very well.

She glanced upwards, taking in the planes of his sharp aristocratic face. There were things she hadn't realised before now, like how his mouth that was nearly always tilted upwards in a smirk turned down naturally at the sides, or how long his dark lashes were.

He was _her_ Marvolo, then.

This feeling itself spoke of danger. The last person she had cared for had ruined her the minute she had subconsciously decided to let her in.

":_You've already ruined me," _she breathed in Parseltongue, pressing a kiss into the hollow of his throat.

He stirred slightly, drawing gradually from his sleep. His ice blue eyes opened drowsily, instantly locating hers. His hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Good morning," Persephone echoed. She snuggled in to his chest. "I'm sorry for waking you," she told him.

"I quite like this way of waking up, actually," he said mischievously. "I might just order you to wake me up like this tomorrow." Persephone blushed unseen into his shirt.

"I might just do that," she whispered. Tom felt victory flooding him at the progress. He nuzzled her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. _Lilies, _he realised, _how ironic. _

"We have to get up," he sighed, holding her closer contrary to his words.

"We do?" she said reluctantly. "Why?"

"Deatheater meeting," he replied, "a full one."

"Will my parents be there?" asked Persephone.

"No, it's not that important, nothing they didn't already know or need to anyway. What they are doing in Bulgaria is a much higher priority."

"How did they come to be in your inner circle, anyway? You have hundreds of deatheaters."

"Because they are the grandchildren of both Richard and Druella Rosier, who married Cygnus Black, who in turn are your mother's parents. I went to school with them except Cygnus; he was already gone by then. They were among the first to follow the cause, they _were_ the first to pledge their resources to it and now their families reap the return."

"I forget how old you are, sometimes," murmured Persephone. "You look to be barely twenty-seven."

"Does it bother you?" he asked, his gaze penetrating hers.

"No," she said simply, not knowing how to explain why it didn't.

"Good," he said, claiming her lips. He rolled onto his back, grabbing her leg which had been draped over him and manoeuvring her so she was straddling him causing her nightie to hike half way up her thighs. She was leaning down in order to keep them connected, her flame red hair cascading around them. His hand travelled up her thigh and to her back, his long fingers pressing against her spine, pulling the back of her black nightie with it. The combined feeling of his warm hand, the smooth satin, the cool morning air against her skin and the wonderful workings of his tongue caused her to moan against his mouth.

He chuckled against her switching to small, heated kisses that lasted for barely three seconds, drawing back and returning to her lips.

"Marvolo," she whispered, ":_Marvolo_".

He groaned and kissed her lingeringly, loving the sound of his name in Parseltongue from her lips. She didn't call him Tom, the name of the father that had left before he was even born, she called him _Marvolo_. He adored her unconditionally.

He bit her bottom lip, enough to draw blood. The salty, metallic taste invaded both of their mouths as she gasped slightly, kissing him harder. Like so many of the Dark, pain woke her up, improved her senses. He used his teeth to pull her bottom lip into his mouth, sucking it gently until it had stopped bleeding the beautiful crimson that ran through her veins and kept her alive.

Eventually, she eased her mouth from his; shifting so she was sitting upright and not hunched over him. "You're going to be late," she told him.

"One of the perks of being a Dark Lord is that it is not counted as 'being late'," he smirked. "Besides, if anyone called me out for it I would probably kill them for the annoyance."

He ran his hands up and down her body, his thumbs brushing slightly against her breasts until they eventually spread possessively around her waist. She arched an eyebrow at him. "I do need to stand up in order to get dressed, you know," she told him. He sighed and very reluctantly removed his hands from her body.

"Give the vase a quarter turn and walk through the wall. It's the same on your side."

"Okay," she said, glancing around the room and frowning. "What is the extra door to?" she asked, clambering off him and onto her feet.

"Pardon?" he asked as she walked over to the dresser the held the vase.

"You have four doors. One to the balcony, clearly, as it is glass; one to what I am assuming is the bathroom and closet; but what is the third?"

"It's to the lounge that adjoins this. I believe it is mainly there to filter the hidden passage ways, this house is riddled with them."

"Is it really? I will have to find some," she said, giving the vase a quarter turn. A part of the wall turned transparent and Persephone hesitantly walked through under Marvolo's watchful eye.

"Persephone," he called after he as she continued to walk through the passage way.

"Yes," she said over her shoulder.

"Wear your mask."

The Dark Lord wasn't foolish enough to believe that all those with his mark were loyal to him, or that they closely guarded their mouths.

…

"Madame Umbridge is not teaching any spells or in fact anything useful. It is all theory as requested by the Minister," the deatheater said.

"Madame Umbridge," Tom said, reclining in his 'throne'. "The pink toad lady with the annoyingly loud voice and whom always 'ahems'?"

"That would be the one," the deatheater confirmed, fighting an amused smile at his rare show of humour in public.

"It's rather difficult to keep up with who is teaching Defence in that school. They all seem to… resign for rather interesting reasons," the Dark Lord sighed.

"That is very true my Lord," the deatheater agreed. And it was. Within the past four years alone, Quirrel had a most unfortunate accident with a vampire who claimed that Quirrel had stolen his turban.

Lockhart had harassed Professor Sinatra one too many times and she had hexed him so hard that he had flown into the wall, hit his head and had severe memory problems since. She had been drafted to teach for the last five weeks after revealing her wonderful hexing ability before safely returning to her subject. McGonagall had awarded her a Special Services to the School award for 'stepping in' but he secretly believed it was for ridding them of the autographing menace.

The next year, the Minister seemed to get the idea that Peter Pettigrew was after Neville Longbottom, the famous child victim of the Cruciatus curse which Peter had held him under for half an hour when he was just fifteen months old. Peter, of course, had no such plan but the bungling moron who was currently their Minister insisted on placing dementors around the school in order to make it look like he was doing something and win votes. The only reason he was voted in was because everyone in the Houses knew he was easy to manipulate. Said dementors attempted to attack a student and Lupin, the current defence teacher, drove it away. The school had fawned over him until Snape snapped and 'accidentally' let slip that he was a werewolf and Lupin pre-empted any strike against him and promptly handed in his resignation.

The following year, he had ordered Barty Crouch to assume the guise of Alastor Moody in order to infiltrate Hogwarts and rig the Triwizard Tournament. He had long needed 'the blood of a champion' and fate seemed happy enough to provide. At the end of the year, he had narrowly avoided capture and was now happily reaping his reward in the Upper Tier, the stage just below the Inner Circle.

The deatheaters worked in rank. There was the Inner Circle, his closest advisors; next was the Upper Tier, the honoured, talented, powerful and very influential that were not the descendants of those in his original circle; they were followed by the Lower Tier which was filled with those who were strong and smart, those who were average or just above; lastly there were the Neophytes, they were the grunts, the expendables or those yet to prove themselves. Those who were stuck there usually had no brain power to speak of or magical for that matter. They were the cannon fodder, sent in first or as distractions while those in the higher tiers sat back and schemed. Scheming was what Slytherins did best, after all.

"The Minister seems to be trying to discredit Dumbledore, my Lord."

"Discredit him," he said, arching an eyebrow. "It's almost as if they are handing control over to me."

A chuckle ran through the crowd, and Tom stifled the urge to roll his eyes. He knew it wasn't funny. One deatheater standing at the front, short and petite swathed in the customary black robes, cowl drawn, did not. He knew that inside that hood, her face was covered in a silver half-mask with delicate emeralds.

"What else is there?" he asked the room at large, drawing his gaze away from her.

A burly figure stepped forward from the Upper Tier, pulling back his hood to reveal the unmasked face of Marcus Flint Snr. It was not customary to wear masks at meetings, only when on an assignment in fact, but Tom was very protective of Persephone. Until he was sure she could deal with anything thrown her way, she was not going into any dangerous positions without him and every possible protection he could provide her.

"The envoy to the giants was successful, my Lord, despite the Order's interference," said Flint.

"Excellent, I expect the report to be on my desk when this meeting is finished, Flint."

"Of course, my Lord," he replied, bowing as he stepped back.

"My Lord," said a new deatheater as he stepped forward. These monthly meetings would usually drone on for at least two hours. This one had almost gone on for one and a half already, thanks to Rosier's long winded droning for the exact play by play in the way Alistair Moody's (the real one) and Pius Thicknese's argument had played out. Despite his claims that it was all in code, Tom truly believed it was simply over the aurors salaries.

Yet another deatheater stepped forward, readying himself to say his piece when the large double doors were thrown open revealing a deatheater running inside before he made an obvious effort to slow down. The others fingered their wands carefully in case it was a trick as he half walked half jogged down the aisle and fell to his knees in front of the dark lord.

"My Lord," he said heavily as he fought to catch his breath. "Raids one, two and four were successful."

"And what of three, Jugson," Marvolo said dangerously.

He hesitated, his head still bowed. "It failed," he said quietly. "Two dead, three captured, one spy revealed."

His jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his yew wand as his eyes bled into a murderous red.

"Out," he seethed, not wanting to kill any more of his followers than needed, "now. You too, _Jugson_," he said angrily and Jugson gulped. There was a flurry of movement as two hundred odd people of his English branch began to hurriedly filter out the door, not wanting to be subjected to his ire. Only one, that he could see, stood still.

On instinct, Persephone walked forward and placed her hand on his arm. He relaxed instantly as her skin touched his, his hand reaching inside her hood to cup her face as he stroked his thumb along her jaw line.

"Calm down," she whispered. "You may have gained losses, but you have revealed a spy, probably that no good Dawson. I know you detest any loyal Dark blood to be spilt, but we must pick up and move on."

"I know," he whispered back. "But I still dislike it."

"That's why they follow you, because you are as loyal to them as they are to you. You are returning them to what they have lost; they know that there will be losses."

He smiled, drawing her down for a kiss.

Standing still, concealed in the crowd, Serveus Snape observed with narrowed eyes hidden beneath his hood. He watched as a delicate figure placed a slender hand soothingly on the Dark Lord who detested being touched and was not punished. He watched with no small amount of incredibility as he reached up and stroked the woman's hidden face and finally as he pulled her down only to kiss her lingeringly.

"Move, would ya?" someone said gruffly. "You're holdin' up the crowd, did ya know?"

Snape sneered, turning on his heel and with a sweep of his robes allowed the pushes of the crowd carry him out the door.

…**.**

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure Black," Snape snapped.

"I just can't picture old snake face with a _lover_," said Sirius, a little awed.

"I guess he has the whole bad boy dark lord image going for him," commented James.

"The Dark Lord also happens to be one of the most charming and charismatic men to walk the Earth."

Black raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure _you're _in love with him, Snape?"

"Very," Snape sneered, his eyes flickering to Lily and back to Sirius so quickly no one even notice with the exceptions of the ever vigilant Moody and Dumbledore.

"Why someone would find a murderer attractive I'll never know," sniffed Molly.

"How exactly did you all get onto this subject?" asked Frank Longbottom as he entered with his wife, Alice, and took their seats.

"Longbottom, you were missing from the last meeting," Snape said sneeringly. Frank shrugged.

"Duty called," he said simply, throwing an arm over his wife.

"Hey Frank, guess what?" James said excitedly. "Voldemort got a bird!"

Frank raised an eyebrow. "He's bought an owl?" James huffed.

"Think about the context, Frank. He's got a girl!"

"Really, are you sure?" said Alice.

"Yes, I'm sure," Snape snapped again.

"You have to admire him for it," Sirius said musingly. "How many other Dark Lords have found the time in their busy schedules to get laid every now and then?"

"I hardly think-" Molly said, blushing as her husband attempted to cover up a snicker.

"What I would like to know," said Lily, "is who is she?"

"I don't know," said Snape, not snapping for once.

"Describe her for us then," growled Moody.

"I didn't see her face; she was wearing a hood and a mask underneath that."

"Kinky," Sirius said jokingly. McGonagall sent a stinging hex at him.

"She touched his arm-"

"She touched his arm," repeated James blandly. "I don't think-"

"The Dark Lord hates to be touched!" snapped Severus. Dumbledore nodded with a gleam in his eye.

"That is true. Tom was always frightfully particular about that."

"That doesn't prove that they are, ah, _together_," pointed out Remus.

"Then he pulled her down and snogged her," Severus finished victoriously.

"But that does," said Remus.

"Damn, he is getting laid," muttered Frank.

"There is more to this than Tom, as you put it, 'getting laid'," Dumbledore began as everyone around him blinked.

"I never thought I'd hear those words out of your mouth, professor," said Sirius, looking as if he was about to get up and hug him.

"What do you mean, Dumbledore?" asked Kingsly.

"As we pointed out before, Tom doesn't like being touched."

"Get to the point, Albus," Minerva told him.

"If he allows her to touch him for comfort, as we have evidence of," he said nodding to Severus, "then we have something entirely different."

"Albus," she said warningly.

"He's in love."

The Order stared at him wide eyed, and then all hell broke loose.

…**.**

**Big thanks to apy, Yume and Outofthisworldgal who review regularly. It really is appreciated : ) . Another massive thanks goes to Rubie blakie for suggesting new Fanfic's for me to read. Keep them coming guys!**

**IMPORTANT PLEASE READ SO I DON'T OFFEND ANYONE IN LATER CHAPTERS I DON'T MEAN TO PLEASE READ**** = I briefly mention in this chapter that pain wakes up Persephone much like the majority of the Dark. This theme will be explored in more detail later, but the gist of it is they all had crappy lives, pasts or circumstances or were simply raised that way. If pain is something that you associate with freedom, survival or something that has become a regular occurrence (i.e. abusive childhoods) in SOME cases a mental state will occur where this happens. Take Tom for example, he had the crappiest childhood to date. He was obviously never going to become an upstanding member of society. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this happens all the time or even for the majority, the complete opposite actually, but it does happen. With Tom though, he associated pain with power and when he had power people stopped hurting him and voila, you have a Dark Lord. That and it has also been scientifically proven that people who have been never shown love CAN have their emotions develop differently so that it is extremely hard for them to care about anyone but are severely possessive and obsessive. Sound like anyone you know? *cough* Tom *cough*. Seems like Dumbledore's theory had merit after all. Once again, this usually only happens in rare cases, but for the sake of this fanfic its common since there are only three sides to magic: light, grey and dark. **

**Anyway, thanks so much for reading. Please review and tell me what you want to see in upcoming chapters!**

**Electra2Pandora**


	13. 13 Time

_**13. Time **_

Persephone sat as patiently as she could in the library, glancing up at the doorway every so often, hoping that Marvolo would walk in.

He had been away for weeks, _weeks, _and it was killing her.

_Be patient, _her mind whispered, _you know he has work to do. _So she did, but she still missed him terribly.

"_Did they do a good job with the treaty?" she asked as he read over the scroll. _

"_Surprisingly," he admitted, "it's rather good work". _

"_Oh dear," Persephone teased. "Did someone actually garner the Dark Lord's approval? Alert the Ministry, the world is ending!" _

_He mock growled, stalking towards her and wrapping his arms around her waist. _

"_You dare mock the Dark Lord?" he asked with fake sincerity, laughter shining in his eyes. _

"_If the situation calls for it," she replied, smiling up at him. He chuckled, kissing her soundly. _

"_Even if you warned the ministry, love, they would deny it for as long as possible, and when they finally did acknowledge it, they would add to the mess as they _attempted_ to clean it up." She giggled at the truth of his words, inwardly marvelling over his use of the word 'love'. _

_He smiled cheekily at her before heading back over to his desk to finish reading. He sighed suddenly, pushing the parchment away from him._

"_I knew it was too good to be true," he muttered. _

"_Oh?" Persephone questioned. _

"_They want me to finalise the treaty," he told her, his mouth turning downwards in displeasure. She sighed too. _

"_You're leaving," she stated. "For how long?" _

"_It is anyone's guess, Morgana knows that the giants are dumber and slower than you could think possible," he grumbled petulantly. A small smile touched her lips. He reminded her so much of a boy at the moment, so content and playful. _

"_You'll hurry back?" she asked. His eyes sought out hers, and she could almost imagine that they could see straight into her soul. _

"_Always," he said sincerely._

That was three weeks ago. She worried about him constantly. What if the Order was still poking around, was he safe?

She snorted to herself. Of course he wasn't safe; he was the Dark Lord after all and one of the most powerful wizards in centuries. He could take care of himself though, he _had_ been doing so for years after all.

"Calm yourself child, you are giving me a headache," a voice said from the doorway.

"Allisandra," Persephone breathed in relief. The elderly seer had been a blessing these past few weeks. In the beginning she had confined herself to the library, morosely trailing her hands over books desperately trying to think of something to do.

Her new project had been to dedicate herself to becoming a good deatheater, or whatever she was, and without Marvolo to direct her she was admittedly at loss of what to do and couldn't for the life of her come up with anything else that could be completed by the open time frame in which Marvolo would return. She abhorred leaving things unfinished.

On the fifth day that Marvolo had been away, Allisandra (who, mind you, was a complete stranger to her at this point) had burst into her bedroom while she was still half asleep and ordered her to get dressed and stop moping or she was going to change the colour of all her clothes to orange.

Persephone absolutely _hated _orange; it clashed horribly with her hair.

Needless to say she had made more of an effort to be active after that. She had painted a few landscapes, researched a ritual and decided that she would create a new spell which she was now laying the ground work for. She wasn't very far though, her worry for Marvolo had increased over the weeks as she visualised everything that could go wrong.

Allisandra had visited her every morning and afternoon, regaling her with stories from her younger years and a few of her clashes with Marvolo, who she called Tom. Persephone had at first been surprised that he allowed her to call him such; until she heard some of the things Allisandra had done to him as payback over the years. As fun as Allisandra was, Persephone decided it was a very unwise decision to cross her.

"_Oh, stop worrying about him!" Allisandra exclaimed. "He's perfectly fine!" _

"_But how do you know?" Persephone said anxiously. _

"_Am I a seer or not?" Allisandra asked incredulously._

"_Right," Persephone said, not really listening. Allisandra sighed. _

"_Look girly, do you want to know for sure?" _

"_Yes," Persephone replied immediately. _

"_Then focus," the seer told her. "Find something that links you and Tom together and reach out to him." _

_Persephone studied her for a moment. She then nodded and closed her eyes, her hand reaching out to stroke her inner right forearm, where her mark currently resided. _

_She let her magic pool within the mark, carefully locating the tendril that belonged to him. Before her eyes, an aura emerged. She could tell it was far away, but she could see it as if it was right in front of her. It was black and silver highlighted with the crimson of spilled blood. She would know Marvolo's aura anywhere. Feelings, faint ones, came to her. She knew he wasn't hurt. Relief coursed through her, soothing the worst of her fears though she still worried after his safety. The last thing she felt before she pulled away was his annoyed exasperation. Persephone let out a laugh. _

She looked up sheepishly at the seer, absently twirling a red curl around her finger.

"Sorry," she said. "I don't mean to be so indecisive."

"Your mind is wandering worse than Luna!" Allisandra told her disbelievingly.

"Who?" Persephone blinked.

"No one you've met yet," Allisandra said, waving her hand dismissively.

"Right," Persephone said, narrowing her eyes. "I can't think of anything to do! I can't even think of a good new spell to craft!"

"Why don't you go play with the dagger Garrick sent you," Allisandra suggested.

"Garrick?" Persephone said, bewildered.

"Ollivander," Allisandra informed her, as though it was obvious. Persephone smirked.

"Garrick, is it? Oh, I'm going to tease him mercilessly with this," she said gleefully. "How did you know his first name? He never tells anyone."

"I may or may not have broken into the ministry to locate his birth certificate," she said, studying her nails.

"Did you or did you not?" Persephone said curiously, raising her eyebrows.

"Actually, I didn't. But I did seriously decide to. It was just luck that as soon as I decided to, I received a vision and didn't have to anymore."

"That was useful," commented Persephone.

"I thought so. Of course, Garrick made me promise not to tell anyone his name," she said airily, studying her nails. "Oh, drat," she suddenly gasped dramatically (and falsely).

"Indeed," Persephone snickered.

Allisandra grinned widely at her, walking out the door.

"Oh, and by the way," she called over her shoulder. "Tom just arrived."

Persephone stared after her before scrambling to her feet and quickly followed her out the door.

…

Elric Travers was not what most people expected.

Upon hearing his reputation people instantly imagined an elderly man with kindly eyes, long hair as was tradition among the older wizards, a beard Dumbledore would be proud of and a large toothy grin.

Contrary to this however the Master Illusionist, with an Honours in spell crafting, was not a day over thirty five. He had dark brown, calculating eyes that belied the genius behind them and chestnut hair that was swept backwards and was cut closely to his head. A five o'clock shadow covered the lower half of his face and if he smiled you would see the straight, white and perfect teeth that rested there. He had a natural charisma that attracted people to him and he did not hesitate to use in any way that could benefit himself.

He was wearing a long dark grey trench coat fastened with large buttons to ward off the autumn chill, his trousers barely two shades darker and thick black boots covered his feet from the cold stone of the road.

He ran a hand, covered with fingerless gloves worn from use, through his hair absently. Whistling an old half-forgotten tune, making up the bits that he could no longer recall, he strode down the street fully aware of the four figures swathed in black following his every move.

More importantly, he was aware that they _wanted _him to notice.

Curiosity overtaking his self-preservation instinct for a moment, he abruptly turned into an alley, following it to its conclusion. It was hardly three paces wide and it was warm from the close proximity of the two buildings it resided between.

There was no room for a proper duel and if they did try to take him on, there would only be enough room for one at a time, perhaps two but they would trip each other up. The odds were now even.

Reaching down into his left pocket, he clutched the wand that was there as he turned and waited for them to catch up. As they reached the mouth of the alley, he saw each of them reach into various pockets or rub their sleeves under which wand holsters were contained, respectively, much like he had. It didn't feel like an ambush, he decided, but it never hurt to be careful.

The figures finally slowed to a stop five paces in front of him and lowered their hoods. Travers scanned their faces, his eyes landing on the last figure.

"Selwyn," he said, nodding in acknowledgement and Selwyn dipped his head back. He knew Owain through an acquaintance of an acquaintance and had maybe had one or two conversations over the years. Their lines of work didn't cross over often.

He turned his eyes back to the other three, two men and a woman, assessing them. "And who might you be?"

"Someone in need of your services," the taller male drawled. "I'm Rudolphus Lestrange."

"Lestrange, you say," Elric said. "An English family all the way up here in Bulgaria? Dear me, are we up to something illegal?"

"When aren't we?" muttered the shorter one.

"The annoying sarcastic one is, unfortunately, my brother Rabastan," he continued without blinking an eye.

"Hey!" protested Rabastan while Elric held his grin in check.

"And this is my lovely wife, Bellatrix," he finished with a flourish.

"You are English, yourself," the woman observed shrewdly, her lips pursing.

"That I was," Travers nodded.

"Why did you leave?" she queried.

"England is so… puritan," he sneered. "They have completely destroyed the balance of light and dark and made it illegal to practise the old ways. Did you think I was going to sit back and hide who I was to appease a corrupt government and fanciful old men? No, Bulgaria is much more… tolerant. Durmstrang has stabilised the community here by encouraging the students to choose any side of magic."

"But England is the seat of power of all magic," she pointed out. "It's where the Ancient's decided on the old laws, it's where time began."

"You think I don't know that?" demanded Elric. "Of course I do! I want to go back, I want to see it again, but it's not what it's meant to be!" He drew in an angry breath, his dark eyes flashing. "I had a sister, you know," he said lowly, "Juliana. Kindest person you would ever meet. She was particularly gifted with runes, especially blood runes."

"Had?" Selwyn picked up on the operative word.

"Had," Travers growled. "One day she comes across a child in a park, all alone, and that child is dying. She tries everything she can to save her, she can't apparate her to Saint Mungo's because the upset to her molecules would kill her instantly, uses every _legal light _spell in her repertoire, and the child is still going to die."

He paused, his right hand clenching into a fist. "So she conjures a knife and cuts across her own palm and draws a circle on the ground around her. Within that, she carefully draws runes in her own blood and activates them, and the child lives. She can finally take her to the hospital, and all will be fine, she _is safe_," he chuckled bitterly. "Or so you would think."

"Two days later, the aurors turn up on her doorstep and arrest her for dark magic, never mind that she saved a life with it and harmed no one. The girl had her magic bound; she was still young enough for it to be, so thoroughly that she was declared a squib. Apparently it was too risky for someone who had been tainted with dark magic at such a young age to be allowed to continue to practice. Juliana was thrown into Azkaban," his lips tightened into a thin line. "She couldn't handle it though; she died four years after being thrown in. They don't know the exact date, they don't check on the prisoners too often. Don't want to face the dementors that they sentence them to, you see."

He studied the cobble stone of the alley angrily, clenching his jaw. "Like their _light_ spells are any better. You levitate a person out a window, banish them into a wall and break their spine, a tickling jinx up the nose can disrupt the brain signals and give someone a stroke. They discriminate against the creatures in every possible, they steal outlaw the common rights they should have. They teach the students about the burnings as if no one died. Wendalyn might have had a flame freezing charm, but do you think they mention the thousands of children who died screaming while they burned alive? As the muggles stood around jeering and came to watch as _entertainment_?"

"We're trying to change that, Elric," Rudolphus murmured. "We're trying to restore England to what it should be, to what it's always been." Travers studied them all again, his eyes flashing in sudden realisation.

"You're deatheaters," he breathed. They all nodded, their eyes evaluating his every move. "You're part of the movement. Morgana, he's back, isn't he?" he said, falling to his knees, a smile on his face. "Fourteen years, I had almost lost hope."

"Our Lord was preparing for his final stroke, Elric," Rudolphus told him softly. "He never left us."

"Of course," he whispered. "I should have known. He will lead us back, he will grant us victory." He stood, back straight and looked Rudolphus straight in the eye. "Let me join, let me help in any way I can."

"Travers," Bellatrix purred. "That is exactly why we're here."

…

"Did you miss me?" he asked, breezing into the entrance hall she had just entered.

"Hardly realised you were gone," she lied cheerily. He smirked and crossed the floor to kiss her lingeringly.

"I did too, you know," he told her, drawing back.

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about," she told him easily.

He rolled his eyes and Persephone's narrowed.

"So, how were the giants?" she asked. He huffed.

"I don't even want to talk about it," he grumbled. Persephone arched an eyebrow.

"You did finalise the treaty, right?"

"Yes, but it was an extremely slow process. 'Slow' isn't even the word!"

"That bad," she said sympathetically.

"You have absolutely no idea, love. I have a new respect for Anderson and Fenwick, I should promote them or some such."

"They are already in the Upper Tier," she told him, grabbing his hand and leading him up the stair to the second floor.

"Right, drat," he said.

Persephone giggled.

"Next time, you are coming with me though, Persephone," he moaned. "It was devastatingly dull, necessary, but dull."

"Didn't you talk with any of the bards?" she asked, drawing him down the hallway to where their rooms were.

"No. Should I have?"

"They're the smartest. As the Dark Lord, you are meant to know this," she teased lightly.

"I'm good at _wizarding_ politics and fighting tactics. I care for the creatures, but I'm focused on liberating us first before I can even attempt the rest of them, excluding those that are already allied with us. I learned all I needed to know before I left, but I didn't have enough time to go to in depth. I admit, giants are not the most interesting of the creatures."

"They are rather dull, aren't they?" Persephone admitted amusedly. "I'll just have to take you up on that offer and accompany you next time, distract them from your lack of knowledge with my plentiful charms."

"I dare say you would need something more obvious to distract them, they don't pick up well on subtlety. "

"Oh dear, no one to trade jibes with? You must have been comatose with boredom!"

"It was torture of the highest degree, Persephone," he told her with mock seriousness.

She giggled and pushed open the door to his room.

"Sit down and rest," she told him, placing her hands on her hips.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, sitting on the bed and pulling her with him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Did I imply I wished to sit too?"

"You also did not imply that you did not want to," Marvolo pointed out. Persephone shook her head.

"You are such a Slytherin," she said fondly, patting his arm in mock pride.

"I'm told it comes from my mother's side of the family," he told her, grinning.

Indeed," she said drily. "Imagine that, would you? Your Slytherin nature coming from the side of the family descended from Slytherin himself."

"Isn't it strange how the world works?" he said, lying down and pulling her with him so they laid side by side with his long arms securely around her. They stayed there silently for a while.

"What was her name?" she asked.

"Hmm?" he replied.

"Your mother, what was her name?"

"Merope," he said quietly.

"Merope," she repeated, testing the three syllables on her tongue. "It is a beautiful name."

"It is," he agreed softly. "I've never met her." She glanced up at him, her hand automatically reaching out to stroke his face.

"As long as you love her, she will be with you," she told him.

"I don't know if I love her," he said, staring at her as if she was a life raft.

"Then you don't have to."

"I think I want to," he admitted. Persephone looked at him right in the eyes.

"I'll support you whatever you do," she said with complete sincerity, her silent strength stunning him.

"I'm not very good at loving people."

"Then they didn't deserve your to love. You weren't foolish enough to care for them because they said a few kind words."

"Most people would say I am a monster for it."

"Then they don't know all of you."

He gazed at her wonderingly, the first person in the world that he could rely on to be there for him, to see past his destiny and treat him as a person.

Leaning down he captured her lips with his own and tried to tell her everything he couldn't bring himself to say yet with it.

He thought, perhaps, she understood what she needed.

Besides, some things were beyond words.

…

**Hi everyone! Thanks, as per usual, for reading!**

**I wanted to show the other side of the dark with Elric. These are the people who get their kicks and giggles out of torturing people, but they are people themselves and the light are just as bad as them in their own way but they claim the moral high ground. The Dark are actually fighting for balance, but since the Light are in power…**

**Just what did Tom put the Lestrange's up to? The hint is in what both Selwyn and Travers do for a living (items dealer, spell crafter/illusionist), but I doubt you will figure it out just yet. **

**I love Tom in this bit because he puts away all his masks just for a little while and is so vulnerable. The street goes both ways, when Persephone lets him in, he opens up. **

**I had some questions left in the reviews for the last chapter, so…**

**Lostfeather1: ****Yes, it will get darker but only when they have missions or are faced with anyone that isn't just Tom/Persephone or her family (Lestrange's not Potter's) or Allisandra. They all trust each other so they will be open and joke a lot when they are together. **

**Outofthisworldgirl: ****Yes, I like slash. I love fem!Harry, 'Pureblood' Harry and pretty much anything where Harry kicks ass. I usually don't like anything where Dumbledore is pure evil and stealing his trust fund and stuff but usually that's the only thing I don't like about HP Fanfiction. Usually I love it all as long as it's well written. **

**Apy: ****Persephone is definitely going to interact with the light. It's briefly mentioned in Allisandra's vision that Lily is watching her while sleeping. Thanks for the suggested Fanfic's! I actually haven't read the second one :)**

**Twibe: ****Persephone isn't going to be angry as such, though she is going to be a little upset with Bella and Rudolphus who kept it from her. She detests the single mindedness of the light though, so I don't think I'll have her throw a tantrum or run away or anything. As **_**Outofthisworldgal **_**mentions in her review, we know Persephone will be captured by the light because of Allisandra's vision, though. No way am I letting her be a bitch and leave Tom. **

**Rubie Blakie: ****I agree Persephone needs to get the upper hand over Tom more often, and she will get there but he will still win for the majority of the time at the moment, he has more experience than her. When she becomes the Dark Lady though, that is WHOLE different ball game. Big thanks for the list of Fanfic's! You are quickly becoming my personal library : D**

**Piper Riddle: ****Yes, she will be captured by the Order eventually. It's hinted towards in Allisandra's vision. We still have a while until that happens. **

**Thank you all so much! Please review, ask questions, tell me what you want to see or what you think etc. so on and so forth!**

**xxx**

**Electra2Pandora**


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